


Star of Lucis

by The_Asset6



Series: Deleted Scenes and Broken Dreams [6]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotp, Comfort, Final Fantasy XV Brotherhood Spoilers, Final Fantasy XV Parting Ways Spoilers, Fluff, Gen, No Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: To be an advisor to the future king meant understanding just what was expected of you. It entailed a high degree of stress and, therefore, an even greater sense of responsibility. Having thick skin and a gut of steel was recommended if not absolutely vital to surviving the position.Still, Ignis was pretty sure this wentwaybeyond his paygrade.





	1. Runaway Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the latest installment! This time around, the story is going to be a bit different. First of all, it is a mostly _happy_ story. Second of all, each chapter will jump to a certain point in time that will be specified within the narrative. Please bear in mind that it is inspired by and therefore includes spoilers for the "Parting Ways" novel and "Brotherhood" anime. There are no spoilers for the actual game in this story, however. Also, please heed the tags: as this story focuses on the relationship between Ignis and Noctis over the years, I did include a relationship tag of the friendship variety. Their relationship is purely platonic in this story; I don't intend to add pairings that weren't specifically stated as being canon in the FFXV universe. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It started not long after Noctis returned from Tenebrae.

What should have been a peaceful venture to heal Noct of what Ignis learned was Starscourge had rapidly turned sour. Most of the Citadel was aware of the situation as soon as it happened, but Ignis hadn’t discovered the truth of the matter until it hit the airwaves. An attack on Fenestala Manor, the reporters announced, and the fall of the last bastion of freedom in Tenebrae. After years of tentative peace between the Oracle’s home and the empire, it was fairly obvious that what had befallen them was at least partially due to the presence of the Lucian royal family.

Fortunately, the attack had been unsuccessful. Well, perhaps that was overstating things—it was an unmitigated mess for the people of Tenebrae, and he could only imagine how the Oracle’s family was faring after losing their matriarch. Ignis couldn’t deny that he was selfish, though. While his instructors praised him for his insight and the progress he’d made towards behaving more like an adult than a child…that was his best friend. The moment the Citadel had exploded with the news, the only thing Ignis had been able to think of was that Noct might be lying dead amongst the casualties. His heart felt like it was going to stop beating at the very notion that they would never again play around the Citadel in the short spans of free time Ignis had in his schedule or that Noct would never run into his room and jump on his bed to wake him when he wasn’t tired enough to sleep yet. His instructors would have told him to think about his future and be concerned about what the loss of their monarch would mean for Lucis, but Ignis simply _couldn’t_ do it.

It turned out that he needn’t have worried: mere hours after the story aired, the reporters declared that the king’s chamberlain had informed them of his and Noct’s survival. Ignis had experienced the slightest twinge of rage deep in his gut at being notified by the news instead of someone in the Citadel, but it was quickly eclipsed by sheer relief. He refused to be embarrassed about having to sequester himself in his room to recover from the stress of the day’s news; it was no one’s business, nor did he have any intention of letting them hold it against him. For once, his instructors let him off without a fuss, so he assumed they understood despite never mentioning it.

When the royal retinue had returned a few days later, many men fewer than on departure, Ignis had been waiting at the top of the Citadel steps. No one rebuked him for bouncing on the balls of his feet as the cars roared up to the entrance, and he was allowed to sprint down the stairs unhindered. He was practically breathless in anticipation, watching with wide eyes as King Regis emerged from the centermost vehicle and smiled wearily down at him.

It was more than he could say for Noct’s reaction to arriving home.

The first thing Ignis noticed was that the prince was walking again, which was a joy to witness. His knees were wobbly and his muscles unsteady from lack of use, but he was upright and moving under his own power; it was a far cry better than before he left. He still needed assistance entering the Citadel, Ignis dipping beneath his arm to support him on one side while King Regis held his hand on the other. By the time they made it into the atrium, his face was ashen with sweat glistening on his brow from exertion he was no longer accustomed to. The king opted to carry him the rest of the way to his room, and he was asleep before his head so much as touched the pillow, utterly spent from the stress of the journey.

According to King Regis, who immediately pulled a chair up to the bed, the Oracle’s blessing had required some time to take hold after they fled Tenebrae, and it would be weeks before Noct even approached his previous levels of stamina. The salubrious effects of the blessing kept him from getting worse, though, and that was the most important thing.

Ignis hadn’t _meant_ to ply the king with questions about what had occurred while they were away—really, he _hadn’t_ —but they fell out of his mouth before he was able to rein them in and remember his place: What had really been wrong with Noct? Why could only the Oracle heal him? Would the Nox Fleurets still be their friends now that they were under the empire’s control? How would sick people make it if Niflheim refused to let the Oracle continue to fulfill her duties?

The king had done his best to appease him and answered almost every question he had, even the ones that gave him pause. Those were the requests that left Ignis cringing inwardly at his own gall to think that his monarch would deem him worthy of answers in the first place. Oddly enough, however, King Regis never appeared disinclined to explain. Instead he leveled Ignis with a stern, assessing gaze that made his stomach churn with nerves. It was the kind of look that usually greeted Noctis when he tried to lie about dumping his vegetables under the table when no one was watching, like the king could see the falsehood in the depths of his very soul. Ignis wasn’t sure why he was on the receiving end this time, but it took every ounce of courage he had not to buckle under the weight of King Regis’s stare.

Whatever he was looking for, he apparently found it, because he would provide Ignis with all of his answers every single time—even if Ignis could tell a few of them were perhaps sugarcoated to be more palatable for someone his age. That was fine, though, as long as the king wasn’t lying to him. Ignis had no reason to suspect that that was the case, not when he was so forthcoming with information and had total authority to order him not to ask any more questions.

Despite the king’s reassurances, however, Ignis began to notice a marked difference in Noct’s behavior as the weeks passed with little improvement. He wasn’t the only one, either. Everyone with any sort of relationship to Noct saw the change: he seldom spoke and played even less. Most of his time outside his studies was spent in his room with any number of watchful eyes on him, whether it was during visits from his father or retainers coming to tempt him with something they thought he would enjoy. Much of that hadn’t changed—he still liked video games and playing with toy swords, but there just wasn’t the same enthusiasm there anymore. Every now and again, Ignis would manage to wheedle him into laughing at a joke (or, as Gladio had suggested a million years ago, demonstrating how dismal Ignis was at playing video games) or going outside to get some fresh air, but his victories were few. There was still no convincing him to read regardless of how much encouragement Ignis employed, as well, and he was rapidly running out of ideas.

By the time he thought of trying to catch another cat somewhere out on the grounds, he began to realize that there _was_ something Noct was interested in doing. Admittedly, it made him want to beat his head against a wall in frustrated dismay, but it was _something_.

Noctis was sneaking out. The prince of Lucis, the boy who would one day inherit the throne of their kingdom, was sneaking out of the Citadel in the middle of the night like a prowler. For what reason, Ignis couldn’t fathom, but he was determined to find out why as soon as he realized what was going on.

If he was being honest, he probably should have noticed it much sooner. He was just so busy all the time between his lessons and sparring with Gladio and looking after Noct that by the time he fell into bed every night, there would have to be a stampede of wild chocobos running through the corridors to rouse him. So, much as he hated to admit it, Ignis had no idea just how long Noct had been venturing out in the early hours of the morning or where he’d been going.

Noct probably would have gotten away with it a lot longer if his door hadn’t slammed loudly on one of his nighttime escapades, waking Ignis out of a sound sleep with a start. He’d blinked the drowsiness from his eyes, staring blearily around his room as though daemons might jump out of the shadows by the foot of his bed to strangle him. When he managed to regain enough consciousness to chide himself for being so stupid (daemons couldn’t make it past the Wall no matter _how_ dark it was!), he had the presence of mind to at least consider checking on Noct before rolling over and going back to sleep. It wasn’t that he thought the prince needed to be watched all the time—even if he frequently felt like doing it anyway just for an opportunity to make him smile like he used to—but it was no secret that Noct still suffered from nightmares. They weren’t as bad as they had been when he was still recovering from the daemon attack, and the king had assured Ignis that the Starscourge was more to blame for that than anything else, but his cries of pain and terror had woken Ignis more than once since his return from Tenebrae. What kind of friend would he be if he _didn’t_ check to make sure he was okay?

When Ignis cracked his door open, however, what he didn’t expect to see was a tiny shadow slipping around the corner towards the elevators. Frowning, Ignis glanced at Noct’s closed door and then back at where the dark figure had vanished before making the decision to follow. There weren’t any other children on this floor (or anywhere else in the Citadel, for the most part), so he didn’t know of anyone else it could have been but Noct himself. That or they had an intruder in the building, which Ignis thought was highly unlikely with how many guards were always stationed in the corridors.

So, best case scenario: Noct was sleepwalking and needed a gentle nudge back to bed.

Worst case scenario… Well, Ignis wasn’t going to go there.

His suspicions were confirmed as he sidled up to the corner and peeked around to survey the broad expanse of hallway standing between him and the lifts. There were guards posted at intervals, but at this late hour, they weren’t quite as attentive as they probably should have been. Most were staring out of the windows rather than paying attention to movements in the corridors, likely assuming that with everyone asleep, there would be nothing to see but blank walls. That, however, gave Ignis’s quarry plenty of room to maneuver.

It was actually rather genius, Ignis grudgingly admitted to himself. Noct couldn’t _breathe_ during the day without everyone in the Citadel knowing about it and checking to make sure he was all right. In the middle of the night, no one would think that the increasingly withdrawn prince would do anything so unexpectedly _stupid_.

 _Maybe he had a nightmare_ , mused Ignis hopefully. _Maybe he just wants his father._

That was apparently asking too much. If Noct was making for King Regis’s quarters, there would have been no reason for him to drop to his knees halfway down the hall and crawl the rest of the way towards the elevators. From where he was standing, Ignis couldn’t even hear the rustle of his pajamas, and Noct was so small that the movement was unlikely to be seen by the guards. Ignis himself would have missed it if not for a brief moment when the prince was illuminated by a snatch of moonlight leaking in from outside the windows.

If Noct just wanted to see his father, he _also_ wouldn’t have foregone the elevators and disappeared into the stairwell, either.

_He can’t make this easy, can he?_

Although he was only two years older, Ignis was tall enough compared with the prince to know that his presence wouldn’t be as likely to go unnoticed. So, straightening to his full height, Ignis didn’t bother trying to hide or silence his footfalls as he strode down the hall in Noct’s tracks. The first guard he came upon immediately turned, shooting him an unimpressed look.

“You should be in bed, Master Scientia.”

They always called him that, but Ignis never really understood why. Now wasn’t the time to argue for the guard to just call him _Ignis_ , though, so he let it go to feign as much embarrassment as possible.

“I-I had a…bad dream,” he lied clumsily. “Is it… Can I go down to my uncle’s quarters?”

“Uh, yeah,” stammered the guard, immediately uncomfortable and pointing at the elevators like he couldn’t get rid of Ignis fast enough. “Sure. Just be careful.”

“Thank you.”

Ignis waited until his back was turned before ducking into the stairwell rather than calling an elevator, breathing a sigh of relief once he was alone again. Most of the Crownsguard was used to children and comfortable with being around Noctis and himself at all hours, but they were usually content to leave the emotional side of the relationship to someone else. They had no right to stop him from going to see his uncle regardless, but it made things easier that he’d happened upon one of the more squeamish guards tonight.

The man didn’t even think about the fact that Ignis’s uncle didn’t _live_ in the Citadel and definitely wouldn’t be in his office at this time of night. Ah well, all the better for him.

In the relative quiet of the stairwell, Ignis was able to hear the scuffle of footsteps a few floors down and could have smacked himself for the time he’d wasted with the guard when Noct was getting away. So, as quietly as he could, he hurried down the stairs with the occasional glance over the banister to see if the prince had opened any of the adjoining doors. It took a few minutes before he realized with a silent groan that they were going _all the way to the ground floor_ , but he didn’t slow his pace. The voice in his head that sounded uncomfortably like Gladio just laughed and said it was good exercise. _It_ obviously wasn’t the one who had to run down dozens of flights of stairs.

What felt like an eternity passed before Ignis skidded to a halt on the landing above the ground floor exit and crouched low so Noct wouldn’t see him behind the metal bars of the balustrade. From his position, he could spy the prince’s silhouette outlined by the light leaking in through the door Noct was holding just slightly open. He was still as a statue, staring out into the corridor, and Ignis assumed he was waiting for patrols to pass.

Sure enough, two tall shadows threw Noct into darkness a few seconds later and then were gone, and the prince waited half a minute longer before slipping out into the corridor.

 _This is a bad idea_ , Ignis groaned inwardly as he followed Noct’s example. _This is a terrible, awful, bad bad bad bad_ bad _idea…_

That didn’t stop him from slipping through the shadows toward one of the meeting rooms in Noct’s wake, though. He knew his duty, both to his prince and his friend, and letting him sneak off like this without anyone knowing where he was going… Yeah, that wasn’t happening. If he was supposed to be Noct’s advisor one day, didn’t that give him the unique ability to tell the prince when he was being an idiot without consequences?

Even if it wasn’t his right, Ignis was thinking that someone was going to have to when he peered into the room to see Noct propping open the door to the garden with a rock before dashing away into the darkness.

_Come on, Ignis—get moving!_

As soon as he stepped out into the colonnade, Ignis felt a moment of terror when he couldn’t immediately spot Noct. The garden was usually populated with huge bushes of beautiful flowers, but the colorful blossoms were hiding from the chill wind of autumn that had begun to whip through Insomnia. It left the foliage looking more like dark sentinels, intimidating daemons that would sooner swallow you whole than let you pass.

Ignis swallowed hard at the sight and stuck close to the wall as he frantically scanned his surroundings. He hadn’t been more than a few seconds behind Noct, so he couldn’t have gone far…

_There!_

It was the barest shift of black against black, but he caught a glimpse of the prince slipping through the bushes near a small pavilion and immediately gave chase.

Noct was making no effort to be silent now that they were out of earshot of the guards, and it was unlikely that he would be seen in the shadows with his black pajamas and matching hair, so Ignis didn’t bother either. When the prince didn’t pause or turn to check behind him, it became obvious that he was unaware he’d been followed even with all the noise Ignis knew he was making. That was something they would _definitely_ need to talk about sooner rather than later.

As was the fact that they really weren’t supposed to be outside unaccompanied, especially at this hour. On top of all that, Ignis felt a little nauseous at how Noct seemed to know _exactly_ where he was going.

_He’s done this before…_

Ignis added _that_ to his mental _List of Noct’s Stupid Ideas_. In the span of a single evening, it had become far more comprehensive than was probably beneficial.

 _And_ it wasn’t likely to get any better anytime soon. While they were in the garden, they were at least _technically_ still inside the Citadel. Everything was enclosed within glass walls so that the royal family and other members of their retinue could escape to nature without having to gather a security detail for a journey, and in daylight, they could enjoy the view of the Crown City from the comfort of their private garden.

So, of course, Noct _had_ to push open one of the windows and crawl out.

Ignis almost called out to him right then and there, but by the time the thought occurred to him, the prince was already outside the confines of the building. With few other options, all Ignis could do was rattle off a series of creative expletives Gladio insisted needed to become a regular part of his vocabulary and follow suit.

If there had been any doubt in his mind that Noct had walked this path before, it evaporated instantly the moment he stepped outside. While Ignis would have gotten lost in the unfamiliar area they emerged into, the prince expertly navigated his way down a flight of stairs, through a maintenance tunnel, and into a vent that Ignis was just _barely_ still small enough to fit into. The latter made a mental note to find out where they were and another way to get there that wouldn’t involve him squeezing into any tight spaces—just to be safe.

On the other side of all that, there was only a short flight of stairs and then…

They were out.

Frowning, Ignis whipped around and his mouth fell open when he saw the gates of the Citadel behind him. They were outside the Citadel.

The _crown prince of Lucis_ was _outside_ the _Citadel_. Without _guards_.

Ignis’s heart skipped a beat as his instructor’s words echoed through his mind: _“You are first and foremost the prince’s advisor. He will have others to see to his safety, but you are to be his last line of defense should they fail.”_

The first time he’d been told that, he’d inwardly scoffed. How hard could it be for a veritable fleet of guards to protect one prince? Now, it felt like someone had hit him with a hammer.

They were outside the Citadel.

There were no guards.

 _He_ was Noct’s last— _only_ —line of defense should something happen.

And he had no idea where the prince had disappeared to.

Traipsing through the trees bordering the rear of the Citadel in the dark wasn’t something Ignis relished, but there was nothing else for it. In the minute it had taken him to realize the gravity of the situation, Noct had run off, and Ignis could only hope he would be able to catch up to the prince before he found his way into the city. Most people loved and admired the royal family, but there would always be those who wished to do them harm. After everything that had befallen Noct in the last few months, the absolute _last_ thing they needed was for him to be abducted or worse.

The Astrals were apparently on his side tonight, however, because none of that happened. Instead, after running around in circles for probably far less time than it felt like, he wriggled his way through a thicket of brambles to find Noct sitting cross-legged on the ground, gawping at the stars with a cat curled up in his lap.

“Noct!”

Despite Ignis’s relief, his voice was still sharper than he meant it to be in his receding worry. Noct’s head jerked sideways so he could stare at Ignis with wide eyes; the little beast he’d been holding yowled indignantly and scurried off. Neither of them spoke into the ensuing silence, Noct appearing too shocked at being followed to say anything while Ignis just wasn’t quite sure _what_ to do now.

Eventually, idly kicking at a rock, he settled on saying, “We’re not supposed to be out here.”

Shame flashed in Noct’s eyes, accompanied by something Ignis couldn’t identify, and he turned away to stare morosely down at the ground. Ignis didn’t hear what he muttered to the grass and took a few hesitant steps forward. “Huh?”

There was a telltale sniffle. “’M sorry, Iggy.”

“I…” Sighing, Ignis approached Noct and plopped down beside him. They must have been quite a sight: two boys staring at the ground like they were both waiting for it to open up beneath them. “You don’t have to say sorry, just… Why’re you out here?”

Noct shrugged at first, but a furtive glance at Ignis’s expression told him he wasn’t getting off that easy. Pulling his knees up to his chest (and wincing because he _still_ wasn’t completely healed after all this time), he mumbled, “Wanted to go out.”

“You could’a just said so. Nobody was gonna say no,” admonished Ignis gently, too drained to bother with the proper grammar and enunciation that had been drilled into his head for years. He wasn’t expecting the sour look that suddenly marred Noct’s features.

“Dad’d make me bring all the guards.”

Ignis nodded his head. In all fairness, there was sort of a _reason_ for that.

“’Sides,” Noct continued quietly as he plucked up a few blades of grass to toy with, “I wanted to be alone.”

Well, _that_ hit Ignis like a smack to the face. He hoped he hid the way he’d been sent reeling pretty well, but Noct seemed to realize how rude that was half a moment later and shot him what he assumed was supposed to be an apologetic smile after a second. It looked more like a regretful grimace. Ignis swallowed his hurt and returned the smile halfheartedly.

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Noct shook his head and groused, “Everyone keeps _watching_ me. It’s annoying.”

Unable to help chuckling humorlessly, Ignis shrewdly pointed out, “You know _why_ , right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Everybody’s really worried about you.”

The prince made a noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt, glaring down at his knees. Shifting awkwardly, Ignis clasped his hands in his lap and forced himself to look at his friend directly.

“ _I’m_ real worried.”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Noct’s shoulders slumped and he curled in on himself. “’M okay, though. Promise,” he tried to reassure Ignis. It wasn’t very convincing when he couldn’t even make eye contact.

Ignis wanted to argue that point, but he decided it probably wasn’t the best course of action. Instead, something else was bothering him and he inquired, “How come you couldn’t be alone _inside_ the Citadel?”

That actually made Noct laugh a little. “Seriously? Someone _always_ finds me in there.”

“ _I_ found you out _here_ ,” Ignis reminded him. He had to feel a little proud of that fact, especially when none of the adults in the Citadel had been the wiser. The prince rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but that’s _you_.”

“What’s that mean?”

The tips of Noct’s ears turned pink, and he was suddenly very busy picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “You’re my best friend. You _always_ find me.”

There was no denying that. Sometimes Ignis wondered if he had a sixth sense for what Noct was up to—and if the latter had one for when he was busy—since they were so in tune with one another. At least, he thought they had been until tonight. Noct’s familiarity with finding his way out of the Citadel forced Ignis to reevaluate just how well he’d been paying attention lately.

“I always will—I promise,” swore Ignis earnestly, scooting over to throw an arm around Noct’s shoulders. The prince leaned into him, just the minutest shift in his posture, but it meant the world. He could have left the conversation at that and found a way to get Noct back inside before their absence was discovered, but there was still one question that needed answering. “How’d you find a way out here, anyway?”

Noct perked up a little, his expression transforming from sheepish to something a little more proud. “See, I saw this cat—“

“Seriously, Noct!?”

“I didn’t know he was gonna go outside the fence!”

“But you followed it _anyway_.”

“It’s not _that_ far—“

“What if it _was_ —“

“It _wasn’t_ , Specs!”

Ignis huffed at the use of his nickname, jostling Noct enough to ruffle his hair a bit. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

That seemed to rein in Noct’s irritation a bit, and the prince immediately adopted a contrite expression as his eyes found the ground once again. He didn’t apologize, though, and Ignis knew that was never going to happen. One thing that hadn’t changed about the prince was that he didn’t say he was sorry unless he _meant_ it. In some ways, it was an admirable trait, but Ignis worried about how that would translate to ruling one day when they were grownups and had to be more diplomatic.

 _“Part of politics is having to say things you don’t necessarily mean for the greater good,”_ his instructor had told him once when he’d asked why the king promised to consider extending the Wall to other parts of Lucis without ever doing it. _“People need to be reassured, otherwise there would be chaos.”_

They would have to work on that.

Rather than an apology, Noct offered a quiet, “I’m careful.”

That much, Ignis had noticed for himself. The prince would have to be cautious not to be spotted by the hordes of loyal guards whose lot in life was to protect him. His statement, however, made one thing abundantly clear.

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?”

The slight stiffening of Noct’s shoulders as he prepared for a rebuke was enough of an answer.

 _This is a bad idea. A_ really _bad idea…_

“Just…make a deal with me?”

Noct narrowed his eyes in equal parts suspicion and curiosity. “What kinda deal?”

It took a few seconds for Ignis to throw caution and everything he’d been taught out the window and elucidate, “Don’t go alone, ‘kay? I’ll go with you.”

“You…” Noct stared at him blankly. “You will?”

Nodding, Ignis murmured, “I know you said you wanna be by yourself, but I won’t say anything and you won’t even know I’m the—“

He was cut off by Noct’s arms wrapping around his chest and squeezing way tighter than such tiny muscles should have been able to. Ignis couldn’t see the prince’s face where it was hidden in his shirt, but he felt a drop of moisture through the fabric as Noct hugged him.

“Thanks, Iggy,” he whispered, nearly inaudible over the distant sounds of traffic.

“You’re welcome, Noct.”

Ignis’s mind felt guilty for betraying his lessons and, he cringed to think, the king’s trust. Its protests were quickly drowned out, however, when Noct snuggled closer under his arm and his _heart_ knew he was doing the right thing. Noct clearly needed time away from everyone, and Ignis would be there to make sure he was safe.

Really, how bad could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure everything will go just _swimmingly_ , Ignis. ;) 
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> 1) As you'll notice, Ignis thinks and speaks very maturely for a ten-year-old. That decision was deliberate: by this point in the narrative, Ignis has already been in training to be Noct's advisor for around four years and has learned to carry himself as such. (You'll notice a few moments when that slips, however.) I tend to consider him the Hermione Granger of this universe, for any Harry Potter fans out there.  
> 2) The path Noct and Ignis take out of the Citadel is from the third episode of "Brotherhood." Essentially, I just described in narrative form what we see when Iris follows the cat. Noct told her he takes that route to play sometimes, so it seemed fitting that this is when he would find it.  
> 3) In the "Parting Ways" novel, Ignis and Noct have a discussion about how he went from being a lively child to much more subdued, and that he frequently felt smothered by all the eyes on him after his injury and snuck out of the Citadel. This entire story is basically inspired by Ignis saying that each venture was more nerve-wracking than the last, but he never regretted going with Noct. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!


	2. Dedication

_Blanket—check._

_Flashlight—check._

_Snack—check._

Ignis nodded to himself as he dug through the contents of his bag for perhaps the trillionth time since he’d returned to his room after dinner. He was already positive that he had everything they were going to need—it wasn’t like they were going that far, after all—but it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. There were so many unknowns he was already well aware of, so that bit of reassurance at least offered him some small comfort.

It didn’t stop him from checking just _once_ more, however, and as he was zipping up his black backpack for the final time, a nearly inaudible knock announced the arrival of the one thing he was missing. With a quick glance at the clock, Ignis crept over to the door, opened it a crack, and gestured for Noct to hurry inside before silently closing it behind him.

“You ready?” whispered Noct as soon as he was sure they wouldn’t be heard. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, and the sight eased a few of Ignis’s nerves enough for him to answer in the affirmative. He was _ready_ , all right— _prepared_ was a whole other matter.

It had been stupid, but Ignis had hoped that once Noct knew his secret was discovered, he might stop itching to get out of the Citadel in the middle of the night. That seemed to be the case after a few quiet nights where Ignis slipped into his room to find the prince sound asleep. Wishful thinking had kept him from realizing that it was all an illusion, never meant to last. Once it became clear that Ignis wasn’t going to tell King Regis or anyone else about Noct’s midnight escapades, he witnessed Noct growing increasingly restless until finally the prince had taken matters into his own hands again.

What an awkward affair indeed. Ignis had been eating dinner in the spacious dining nook of the kitchens; staff were not usually permitted to eat with the king and prince—it was their designated family time by order of the former. Then an insistent tug on the hem of his sweater had alerted him to Noct’s arrival. As soon as he turned around, he found himself held under the intense scrutiny of sharp blue eyes and realized the moment Noct spoke that this was the first test of their friendship—not their _relationship_ , but their _friendship_.

“Tonight,” the prince had stated without elaborating. Ignis didn’t need to ask what he meant and quickly swallowed down his apprehension before Noct could identify it.

“Tonight,” he’d confirmed instead, his mind already abuzz with what they should bring with them.

Hours later, Noct was calmer if no less insistent, and Ignis had to smile even if it was admittedly a bit strained. He _knew_ he was doing the right thing by Noct; he didn’t regret making the promise to go with him on his nighttime outings one bit. Regardless, the risks were numerous. If they got caught, they were going to be in _so_ much trouble. It would be easier for Noct—he was the _prince_ , so they could only do so much to him—but Ignis was in a far more precarious position. The king would be well within his rights to remove Ignis from Noct’s side and give him any number of other menial duties in their service, like maybe cleaning the lavatories if he was angry enough. Ignis would probably be lucky to get away with something as simple as _that_ when he could just as easily be sent away from the Citadel entirely or thrown in jail or exiled to some other part of Lucis or exiled from the _country_ …

“Iggy, _stop_.”

Noct’s petulant whining yanked Ignis out of the carousel of consequences he’d been going around on for hours, and the prince grabbed his hands and pulled him towards the door before he could protest. With an excited, remarkably _devious_ little grin, he continued, “We’re not gonna get caught. Quit it.”

“Quit _what_ , Highness?”

“Worrying.”

Shaking his head, Ignis automatically denied, “I wasn’t worrying.”

“Were _too_.”

“Was _not_.”

“Were _too_.”

“How would _you_ know? You can’t read minds,” Ignis reminded him, poking his nose.

Noct swatted at his hand and huffed. “I can read _your_ mind. You always get a little line right _there_ ,“ he jabbed his pointer finger sharply in the middle of Ignis’s eyebrows, “when you’re worried.”

Hesitating, Ignis sighed and resigned himself to his defeat. What could he say—Noct knew him well.

“It’s just…if we get caught—“

“We _won’t_.”

“But if we _do_ ,” Ignis insisted, shooting Noct a glare that cut off any further interruptions before continuing, “we’ll be in more trouble than either of us can probably imagine.”

For the briefest fraction of a second, Noct looked like he might just argue that point. There was a flash of something in his eyes, however, and he deflated immediately after. His gaze sought the ground as he mumbled dejectedly, “We don’t hafta go, Iggy. It’s okay.”

It most certainly _wasn’t_ okay. Ignis didn’t have to be Noct’s best friend to see that—he didn’t even have to _know_ Noct to see that.

“Noct, _no_ , I…”

He exhaled sharply, suddenly angry with himself for taking the wind out of the prince’s sails when he _finally_ seemed excited about something again. Clearing his throat, he plastered a mostly sincere smile on his face and put his hands on Noct’s shoulders until the latter glanced up at him through his lashes. Ignis told himself he was imagining the wetness there.

“I just…wanted to make sure you know what could happen, that’s all.”

Noct stared at him in silence, his eyebrows drawn in skeptically over top of his concerned eyes. When he whispered, “I don’t wanna get you in trouble,” Ignis felt like his heart was going to break.

“You _won’t_ ,” he reassured the prince, trying to convince himself just as much as Noct. As if sensing his thoughts, Noct’s brow furrowed even more noticeably, and he added, “This is _my_ choice. If we get in trouble, it’ll be my fault, too.”

That didn’t appear to do much to ease Noct’s worry, and he sniffled unhappily without saying a word. Sighing, Ignis pulled him in for a hug.

“ _Now_ who’s worrying?”

There were a few seconds of silence before he heard a muffled giggle as Noct unsuccessfully tried to extricate himself from Ignis’s embrace. The latter held on tight until the prince was laughing more genuinely, though, and eventually stepped back to see him grinning shyly again. It was one of those smiles Ignis hadn’t seen much since Noct had been attacked by that daemon, and if risking his position in the Citadel would draw it out more often, then it was worth it.

Unfortunately, that appeared to be exactly what he would need to do. Noct’s high spirits didn’t fade a bit as Ignis hefted his backpack onto his shoulders, turned out his light so that no one would be able to tell the difference between him and the bunched up pillows beneath his covers, and led the way out the door into the corridor with the silent footsteps of a burglar. The gravity of the situation didn’t come crashing down on them at all, as a matter of fact, until they reached the intersection they needed to traverse in order to reach the staircase.

That was the moment Ignis realized the one thing he truly _had_ forgotten about: how they were going to get _two_ people down a hallway patrolled by half a dozen guards.

Apparently, that much had slipped Noct’s mind as well. He stared at the guards with his mouth hanging open and a slight crease between his eyebrows.

“Uh-oh.”

“Indeed.” Ignis squinted at the sentries, somewhat reassured by the fact that they were once again staring out the windows but not nearly enough to feel confident that they could sneak past undetected. “How are we going to get through _now_?”

Noct shrugged. “I always do it myself.” He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing, and then inquired, “How’d _you_ get out?”

“I said I had a bad dream and wanted to see my uncle.”

“…Your uncle doesn’t live here.”

“ _You_ know that and _I_ know that…”

“Can’t you just do that again?”

Now it was Ignis’s turn to shrug. “Shouldn’t use it _too_ much or they’ll stop believing it. There has to be a different way.”

Both of them fell silent after that, Ignis racking his brains for a method of deceit that would explain the young prince and his future advisor wandering the corridors after hours while Noct, he assumed, waited for him to come up with something. That was usually the way of it—Ignis figured things out and Noct waited to be told what to do. Well, that was how it worked _now_. Back before his injury, it was far more likely that the prince would jump in headfirst rather than pause for adequate advice. There had been more scraped knees and broken bones as a result than Ignis cared to think about.

Before he could construct a plan with a reasonable success rate, however, a deafening _crash_ reverberated off the walls and made Ignis jump nearly out of his skin. He spun on his heel and thought his teeth must all have broken from how hard his jaw hit the ground to see a _priceless Lucian vase_ shattered in glittering bits across the hall from him. The black porcelain shards were almost invisible against the matching marble floor; Ignis thought he would have missed them entirely if it weren’t for the gold ornamentation gleaming in the moonlight.

And standing right in the middle of it all was the prince.

 _You have_ got _to be joking._

There was no time to berate him, however. The clamoring of armored footsteps— _multiple_ sets of armored footsteps—overtook the last vestiges of the noise the vase had made when it hit the ground. All Ignis could do was grab Noct by the wrist and drag him back down the hall and around the corner before the guards could see them. The corridor made a giant square around the outside wall, so they sprinted forward as quietly as they could until they reached their destination. A quick peek and the soft sound of voices in the distance told Ignis that this was probably the only chance they were going to get (he didn’t even want to _think_ about how they were going to get back _up_ here), and he shoved Noct through the door to the stairwell, letting it fall closed behind them with a soft _click_.

Their heavy panting filled the silence around them, echoing off the stone stairs as if they were in some daemon’s cave. Ignis didn’t bother waiting for his breath to come back before he rounded on Noct, his hands on his hips.

“What were you _thinking_!?” he hissed, utterly incensed now that the fear of discovery was dwindling. Of all the things he’d planned on doing tonight, destroying priceless historical artifacts was _not_ on the list.

Noct didn’t seem to care one way or another, his eyes wide and innocently guileless as he whispered, “We needed a distraction.”

“Yes, but we—you can’t just—that was—“ Ignis couldn’t seem to find the right words to tell him just what he’d done, nor had he ever thought he might need to, so he stammered through a few variants of _How Could You Do Such A Thing_ until Noct shrugged.

“Dad never liked those anyway.”

Well. That was just… Well.

Ignis didn’t have a response for that. Eventually, he stopped trying to construct one and settled for shaking his head in exasperation. “Just…no more destroying things, all right?”

He waited for Noct to agree, the prince crossing his heart for good measure, before gesturing for them to get a move on. He wasn’t sure how much time they’d wasted just getting off their floor of the Citadel, but dawn would come before he knew it, as would his responsibilities. Much as he would have loved to stay out with Noct to see the sun come up, Ignis knew that he needed to be back inside well before it broke the distant horizon out past the Wall; Noct would be missed not long after. If they were going to make the most of their time tonight, they had best make haste.

Fortunately, the rest of their expedition was relatively uneventful compared with the last few breathless minutes. It was a matter of timing, really: slipping between the guards’ rounds, tiptoeing into the nearest meeting room, ducking through the garden window, squeezing through the maintenance tunnel. (Ignis had yet to find another road that would allow him more room to maneuver and thought with an impatient huff that they might need to choose a different location for their excursions in the near future lest he outgrow their path first.) Within minutes, they were back where he’d first found Noct that night just a couple of weeks ago, the moonlight filtering through the rapidly reddening leaves overhead to illuminate their spot.

Noct, of course, hadn’t thought ahead and immediately made to plop himself in the grass. With a hand on his shoulder, Ignis stopped him just before he could touch the ground, which was still wet and squishy from yesterday’s rain, and ordered him to hold onto Ignis’s backpack while he unloaded.

All right, so _maybe_ he’d gone a bit overboard. The blanket was indeed a necessity in that it separated them from the grass—an imperative barrier if they were to sneak back inside without drawing attention to themselves with squeaking shoes and green-stained trousers. Stealth aside, the air was growing chillier with the approaching autumn, so it was inadvisable to allow Noct to sit on the cold ground anyway. The flashlights were similarly important; despite the brightness of the full moon tonight, the shadows stretched deep and long around them, and it never hurt to be cautious. Some—no, _most_ —of the rest was probably nothing he really should have brought with them for such a short absence, but he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that Noct hadn’t been back from Tenebrae all _that_ long and still had difficulty at times when dealing with physical exertion. A small pillow, an elixir he’d nicked from the infirmary, a full canteen of water, two spare coats—they were definitely too much, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret packing them in spite of the load it put on his back. He would rather bring more than they needed than find himself lacking at a crucial moment.

There was one thing he _did_ bemoan taking with them, however, and he sighed as Noct turned his nose up at Ignis’s book to instead stick it inside one of his picture books—oh, _comic books_ , the prince loved to remind him.

“Don’t you ever want _more_ than that?” inquired Ignis, tossing the volume back in his bag while Noct stretched out on his stomach and shot him an offended glare.

“They’ve got _dragons_ , Specs.”

“Ah. How remiss of me.”

From there, they settled into companionable silence, Noct devouring the pages of his choice read while Ignis tried to find something to occupy his mind besides thoughts of how they were going to get back inside the Citadel undetected. It was fairly simple, oddly enough, when he frequently reminded himself that Noct needed him to be his eyes and ears—his protection out here where the guards couldn’t see them. In that way, Ignis found it difficult to _truly_ relax; every sound took on new meaning, every shadow new shape, until he would have been convinced they were surrounded by daemons if his own sense hadn’t kicked in to point out that they were still within the Wall. Regardless, he was Noct’s protector tonight, and it was his job to be vigilant even as he kept his promise not to bother the prince when he desperately needed time outside the walls of his self-proclaimed gilded cage.

So, Ignis busied himself with rummaging through his bag now and again, more out of habit than a need to verify they had all they needed. Each successive search was punctuated by Noct’s huff of disapproval before the prince finally couldn’t take anymore and rolled sideways until his head was pillowed on Ignis’s knee instead of the _actual_ pillow the latter had brought. That, of course, meant that he couldn’t reach his bag without dislodging Noct, so he was resigned to a few hours of numb legs before he remembered that there _was_ one last thing he hadn’t mentioned yet… One final piece to tonight’s adventure that would make it—hopefully—perfect.

“Noct?”

“Mm?”

“I…brought something for you. A surprise.”

That got his attention, although Ignis wasn’t sure it was positive since Noct’s expression automatically turned sour above the comic clutched in his hands. “’S not another book, is it?”

“No,” huffed Ignis with an irritated roll of his eyes. “I know when to admit defeat.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Ignis poked Noct’s forehead, smirking when the latter rubbed the tickle away. Despite his answering glare, Noct couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“So…what’s the surprise?”

Shrugging, Ignis primly replied, “Well, _now_ I’m not sure you deserve it.”

“Aw, c’mon, Iggy!”

“No, no. You _clearly_ don’t appreciate the finer things. My genius would be lost on you.”

“I ‘ppreciate stuff!”

“ _Stuff_ like comic books.”

Noct opened his mouth, thought better of his response, and closed it like a fish out of water. Eventually, he decided not to reply to that accusation at all and whined, “Just _tell_ me!”

“Your tone is highly unbecoming.”

“…What’s that mean?”

“It means you sound more like a peasant than a prince.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Noct indignantly. The weight of his head vanished from Ignis’s lap, and a moment later he was sitting cross-legged beside the most pathetic looking pout he’d ever seen.

“Oh, don’t even try that. It won’t work on me.”

Noct blinked innocently. “Yeah, it will.”

“No, it _won’t_.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh- _uh_.”

“It _always_ works on you.”

So, maybe he had a point there. Noct knew how to use those clear blue eyes and prominent bottom lip of his to devastating effect. Everyone in the Citadel was fortunate he was too withdrawn around large groups these days to use them— _especially_ when he was so well aware of the impact they had on those around him. No, it appeared that he would reserve that, just like his words and smiles, for Ignis alone.

_And I give in like a sucker every time._

“All right, all right,” Ignis finally murmured. He had to smile at the way Noct punched the air in celebration of his victory, waiting for him to settle once more before he shoved his hand in his backpack and dug around until he felt what he was looking for. “So, I’ve been working on a new recipe.”

Noct’s eyes immediately lit up, and he bounced excitedly in place. If there was one thing he appreciated more than anything else since he’d returned from Tenebrae, it was Ignis’s rather strange attempts at cooking. He was getting better with time, but…well, no one was going to be asking him to cook for the king anytime soon, that was for sure.

He couldn’t help being rather proud of the little cakes that stared up at Noct from inside their plastic container, though, with their nearly perfect roundness and the powdered sugar sprinkled generously over the top. There were places where the dough had split apart in the oven and allowed gooey juice from the berries inside to leak out, but otherwise, he thought they looked exactly like what Noct had described eating when he was in the Oracle’s household.

Apparently, his lack of a recipe hadn’t negatively impacted the final product. At least, that was what he assumed given the way Noct’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide.

“Are… Are those…?”

“I tried to recreate the recipe as closely as I could,” Ignis confirmed with a shrug. “I’m not sure how well it turned out, but…want to try?”

Honestly, he didn’t even need to _ask_. Noct practically lunged forward to attack the dessert; Ignis chuckled at the sight but slowed him with an outstretched hand to open the container properly. It would be many years before Noct would learn to warp the way Ignis had seen King Regis do on occasion, yet it seemed for a moment that he’d magically transferred the pastry from his hand to his mouth given how quickly it made the journey. Ignis didn’t bother partaking of any himself, waiting instead for Noct to offer some feedback.

Anytime now.

…Maybe.

When it appeared that the prince was content to munch at his dessert in contented silence—and when Ignis wasn’t quite sure he would be able to wait another moment for his opinion without going insane—he cleared his throat pointedly.

“Uh…is it okay?”

A few crumbs sprinkled down onto Noct’s shirt as he nodded enthusiastically. “Mm- _hmm_!”

_Well, that’s something._

“Is it like what you had in Tenebrae?”

“Nah.”

_…And so is that._

Before Ignis’s heart could fall too far in light of his apparent failure, Noct swallowed his mouthful with some difficulty and critiqued, “It wasn’t as sweet, and the outside was softer.”

“Ah.”

“Aren’t you gonna have one?”

“Oh, I… Sure. Of course.”

Noct thrust the container under his nose, graciously letting Ignis take one before grabbing a second for himself. For a moment, Ignis paused with the pastry halfway to his mouth, watching in awe as Noct inhaled his with a genuine, unguarded grin on his face. In that instant, he was looking at his best friend the way he’d been before the world chewed him up far too soon. He was seeing the boy who never emerged within the confines of the Citadel or under the scrutiny of his elders.

For that infinitesimal, fleeting speck of time in the greater expanse of the universe, they were doing nothing wrong and everything was okay again.

He would just have to remember that when they tried to sneak back through the corridors in a few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I only have one note this time, namely regarding the dessert. It is supposed to be the Memory Lane Cake from the game, which is Ignis's version of what Noct had in Tenebrae. In the "Brotherhood" anime, we see Ignis making Noct this dessert multiple times in an attempt to get it perfect when he doesn't have a recipe to go off of, and Noct mentions that he told Ignis about it once and he's been working to recreate it ever since. 
> 
> Apologies for not being able to post more than once a week anymore. This is by far the busiest part of my year for reasons, so I'm afraid it leaves the creative juices a bit dried out much of the time. That being said, I do promise to continue posting on at least a weekly basis, but it might be summer before I can post more frequently again.


	3. Growing Pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday and welcome back! As you can see, this story just got another chapter added to it. What can I say? Little Ignis...is the best! I guess we can hold off on returning to our regularly scheduled darkness a little longer. :) 
> 
> Please note: there will be minor spoilers for the "Brotherhood" anime and "Parting Ways" novel in this chapter.

“I don’t get how you put up with his shit.”

Ignis raised his eyes from the pastry dough he was currently rolling out evenly along the countertop just long enough to shoot Gladio a warning glare that went unheeded. The latter instead took his terse silence as a form of agreement.

“All he does is brood. You’d think I killed his puppy.”

“His Highness does not _have_ a dog.”

Snorting, Gladio rolled his eyes and pressed on, “You know what I mean. Every time I knock him on his ass, he just pouts like a little baby and finds some excuse to skive off early.”

“Did it ever occur to you,” Ignis sighed distractedly as he quadruple-checked the height of the dough, “that being, as you so delicately put it, _knocked on his ass_ repeatedly might grow tiring?”

“Ain’t that the point, though? To get _better_? That won’t happen if he can’t even make it through a whole training session!” exclaimed Gladio, leaning against the counter across from him and muttering under his breath about royal pains in the neck. The impact of his muscular frame shook Ignis’s workspace ever so slightly, but it was enough to earn him yet another threatening glance as Ignis held the round cutter stable just above his perfectly-rolled pastry. When Gladio ignored his irritation and it became obvious that the conversation would take precedence over his next attempt at concocting the same dessert he always did, Ignis set the metal ring aside and exhaled sharply.

“Gladio, I feel it is my duty to remind you that that _pain in the neck_ is our prince, as well as the fact that _you_ are fifteen while _he_ has only _just_ turned twelve.” Gladio appeared unaffected by his logic, so Ignis pointedly suggested, “Perhaps some patience would be wise.”

“I’ve got _plenty_ of patience.”

“We both know that is a gross miscalculation.”

“Shove it, Iggy,” grumbled Gladio, rolling his eyes.

Smirking, Ignis took his cutter in hand and pressed it into the dough to allow Gladio some time to mull over what he’d said. If Ignis was being honest, this conversation was neither a surprise nor a new occurrence. It seemed like every week brought a novel complaint from the prince’s sworn Shield, and as one of his closest friends, it fell to Ignis to hear his grievances against their shared charge. Most of his aggravation had very little merit outside of simple character incompatibilities between Noctis and Gladio: while the latter was sociable yet tough, the former was the exact opposite. Gladio enjoyed conversation and taunting during his training sessions; Noct had grown, if it were possible, even _more_ introverted over the last four years than he’d been following the occupation of Tenebrae. Where Gladio sought to instruct, the prince saw only his own failure. Was it any wonder, then, that his repeated inability to best his Shield in battle would end in dismayed avoidance?

Unfortunately, Ignis knew it wasn’t his place to confide in Gladio when it came to Noct’s innermost thoughts, especially when the prince rarely disclosed them to _Ignis_ anymore and frequently left him to guess. He was positive that his assumptions were correct, however—he did, after all, know Noct better than he knew himself at times. Regardless, even if he _could_ find the words to describe the lack of confidence Noct suffered from, he very much doubted Gladio would deem them a good enough justification for the prince’s behavior.

Sure enough, it only took until Ignis had finished layering six round cutouts in his baking sheet for Gladio to grunt, “He’ll never be king if he can’t pull his shit together.”

The spoon in Ignis’s hand made a loud _clunking_ sound where it slammed down against the counter alongside his fist. When Gladio turned to survey him with wide, cautious eyes, Ignis hoped that his own gaze was full of all the fire he could muster—enough for him and the prince both.

“Noctis _will_ take the throne one day,” he asserted, his voice low and firm. “Until that day comes, it is the duty of his Shield to lift him up, _not_ tear him down.”

A spark of anger erupted behind Gladio’s amber eyes as they narrowed dangerously. “I know my duty, and it’s not to coddle him. That’s apparently _your_ job.”

“ _My_ job is to guide him along his path, but _only_ when he is ready.”

“It’ll be a long time comin’.”

“If that is what it takes.”

Shaking his head, Gladio snorted derisively and practically spat, “If _that’s_ how you feel, you’ve got no business being his advisor. He needs someone pushing him forward, not holding him back.”

Ignis felt like he’d been slapped in the face. It was only with the utmost self-control that he kept his jaw from dropping and his breathing even. They had bickered before over Noct’s progress toward his eventual destiny and traded insults at their own brands of fraternizing with the prince, but never like this. In the blink of an eye, their conversation had turned _cruel_ and become a competition for who could damage the other more thoroughly. If it weren’t for the spoon hanging limply from his fingers, the smell of ulwaat berries wafting from the bowl on the counter, the beeping of the oven to let him know it had reached the appropriate temperature—if not for their surroundings, Ignis would have thought they were in the training room, wooden swords grinding against each other as they fought for dominance over the field of battle.

Perhaps they had simply found a new battlefield, made of words rather than actions with a prince’s fate hanging in the balance. Friends or not, it was a battle Ignis would _never_ allow himself to lose.

So, steeling himself, he straightened to his full height and plastered a detached expression over the hurt he knew he wasn’t quick enough to hide. He looked Gladio straight in the eye, ignoring the regret staring back at him, and said, “My loyalty lies with the prince. My duty lies in determining what is best for him and supporting him to that end in any way I can every day I walk this earth. How I choose to perform my duties is neither within your purview nor any of your business. Now get out.”

“I… Iggy, I—“

“Leave.”

Gladio’s mouth snapped shut, and just like that, their argument was over. With a curt nod of understanding, he shot Ignis one last remorseful look before shuffling out the door and vanishing down the corridor.

As soon as he was gone, Ignis dropped the spoon and leaned his hands forward on the counter, hanging his head. _That_ was not a conversation he’d ever wanted to have with Gladio, and yet…he couldn’t force himself to feel bad about it. The last few months since Noct began his weapons training had been punctuated with snide remarks, rude observations, and condescension bordering on _treasonous_. Never in his wildest imaginings would Ignis believe that Gladio could ever truly _betray_ Noct, no matter how vocal he was about his disdain for the prince’s demeanor, but that level of insubordination could not be tolerated if they were to be Noct’s closest allies in his ascension to the throne.

Was Noct the same as his father? Not at all. King Regis was grace, intelligence, and wisdom; he was compassion and rationality, empathy and astuteness. His light shone so bright that it was no wonder Noct was constantly hidden by the long shadows he cast. However, no one could ignore that Noct was still _young_. He hadn’t been trained to rule the way Ignis had been raised to wait on him or Gladio had been brought up to protect him. Much of his role in the governing of Lucis would come with age and experience, as it had for his predecessors. Ignis was well read on the history of the Lucian kings, and they all had their shortcomings. Not all of them had seemed to him like they would grow to be effective leaders, yet that was exactly what they had done— _grown_.

_“A king’s duty is to his people,”_ King Regis had once said to him only a few years ago, although it felt like much longer. _“He must know what his subjects need, and in turn, he requires an honest assessment of his own actions as he seeks to fulfill those needs. It is a thing many take for granted—honesty—and yet it is the most valuable gift a king can receive. It helps you to grow and learn how to be a better leader for your people, whether that means your court promoting a legal amendment or just Captain Drautos calling you a fool for wearing an unflattering tie.”_

Despite the laughter they had shared by the end of his tale over Noct’s sickbed, Ignis had never forgotten the gravity of the king’s words that day and had taken them to heart in his own duties ever since. He _did_ offer honest assessments of Noct’s behavior, contrary to what Gladio obviously believed, and his guidance was firm while delivered without the harsh blow the prince’s Shield would be more comfortable with. How could anyone expect Noct to grow if they were unforgiving towards his failings? How could any living thing in this world grow without being given adequate _time_ to flourish?

Was Noct the same as his father? Not at all. But Ignis had never once doubted that he would one day come into his own and ascend the throne as a worthy successor to the line of Lucis. If he tripped on his path, Ignis would be there to help him up, dust him off, and send him onward.

He would never force him.

He would never degrade him.

He would never leave him. The rest of the world be damned.

His resolve didn’t waver once as he finished the pastries and carefully settled them in the oven to bake. His discomfort over fighting with Gladio didn’t darken his perspective in the time it took the dough to rise up in fluffy, golden perfection. His spirit didn’t flag as he dusted the dessert with powdered sugar and set it aside to cool. It echoed in the clanging of the pans and bowls as he washed them, in the sound of his footsteps against the marble floor as he departed to meet Noct in the antechamber right outside the throne room.

And then it sighed in exasperation when it caught sight of what the prince was up to _this_ time—or maybe that was just him.

“Noct, how many times have I told you _not_ to deface artifacts of significant historical import?”

The way that Noct failed to jump a foot in the air told Ignis that the prince had already been aware of his presence, although he did at least have the grace to turn around with a guilty half-smile.

“I got bored,” Noct murmured with a seemingly careless shrug. Ignis knew better, though. It was immediately apparent that there was something wrong—Noct’s slightly slumped posture gave it away.

“Did you,” murmured Ignis, not _really_ asking as he took a moment to survey Noct more closely.

How many days had passed now since the last time he saw a smile light up that face? Certainly no less than a week, if not more. Inside or outside the Citadel, it didn’t much matter. Now that Ignis was older and his lessons structured differently, he had the time to accompany Noct’s chauffeur when he picked the prince up from school. It wasn’t strictly _necessary_ , per se, but Ignis was painfully aware of Noct’s somewhat self-imposed exile from the rest of his classmates and liked to make sure he saw a friendly face when he finished for the day. The effect was always the same: a tiny, weary smile briefly emerging to greet him before Noct slipped back into his general moodiness. That, unfortunately, was something Gladio hadn’t lied about.

The circular reasoning behind Noct’s existence was rather ridiculous, and Ignis found himself more frequently sympathetic to Noct’s bouts of the doldrums than annoyed by them. After all, Ignis would never know what it was like to wonder if everyone around him truly _cared_ or if they only sought his friendship for the position he held in society. He would never understand what it felt like to walk amongst the people of Lucis and know that he would never be one of them, instead raised up on a pedestal for the family he was born into. His would never be the lonely existence of a royal constantly surrounded by people while simultaneously separated from each and every one of them.

The thought alone was positively _maddening_. Living it had to be a nightmare.

Sending Noct to a public school had been King Regis’s way of combatting those feelings of inequity and inadequacy. Ignis had overheard him saying so to Master Clarus one day when they thought they were alone. (It wasn’t that he’d _tried_ to eavesdrop, but honestly, they really should have checked to make sure the library was clear of prying ears hidden behind stacks of leather-bound books.) Most days, Ignis longed to find the king and tell him just how badly that had backfired. If anything, Noct appeared to grow _more_ withdrawn from his classmates with each passing day, and even Ignis found it difficult to wrest a few words from him recently.

Particularly _honest_ words.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Ignis continued without commenting on Noct’s obvious lie, “but I was preparing a special treat for dessert tonight.”

Noct’s shoulders dropped a few inches when he realized Ignis wasn’t going to force the truth from him, and he quirked an eyebrow at the rather glaring hint. “You tried it _again_?”

“Indeed. I added cornstarch to the berry mixture to thicken the sauce and keep it from spilling out. Hopefully, that will address the problems with the last batch.”

“The last ones weren’t that bad…”

“Tell _that_ to the laundress who had to remove the blue stains from your shirt.”

“It was black anyway.”

“It was still noticeable.”

Rolling his eyes, Noct abandoned the argument he _clearly_ wasn’t about to win. He rarely held his ground during a disagreement anymore, and Ignis had a hard time deciding whether he was simply growing too mature for petty bickering or if he just lacked the motivation. Most days, it was a tossup.

Ignis was about to suggest they head to the kitchens for a taste test when he caught a glimpse of just what Noct had been doing when he’d arrived and groaned aloud.

For a second, Noct actually looked remorseful.

“Noct.”

“…Y-yeah?”

“I do not remember there being a likeness of Carbuncle in the portrait of the prophecy.” _Especially one so poorly drawn._

For all of his many talents, Noct was by no means an artist. Not even as a young child had he harbored much interest in the visual arts, and Ignis couldn’t remember him so much as _touching_ a crayon or pencil for the purposes of drawing. While most children developed dexterity and motor skills from learning to color inside a set of lines, Noct played video games and toyed with small plastic soldiers. As such, his attempt at a drawing of Carbuncle was… _unshapely_ , to say the least.

If the prince noticed his ineptitude, however, he didn’t care enough to be embarrassed by it. Instead he glanced between Ignis and his handiwork a few times before bashfully replying, “Carbuncle’s never in paintings with the other Astrals. And I got—“

“Bored. Yes. You said.”

“Are you mad?”

Ignis should have said yes. He should have told Noct that he was infuriated (even though he wasn’t) and that the prince would have to clean up his mess (even though he wouldn’t). He should have wagged a finger in his face and sent him to his room without getting to sample Ignis’s latest culinary concoction.

He did none of those things. How could he when those big blue eyes were staring tearfully up at him and that lower lip was pushed out like it could hold the weight of Ignis’s disapproval all by itself? It was becoming frustratingly obvious that no matter how old he got, Noct would _never_ lose his ability to break through someone’s defenses with just the flash of a pout.

So, sighing in as exasperated a fashion as he could manage, Ignis spent the next half hour dutifully erasing all traces of Carbuncle from the prophetic painting outside the throne room. All the while, he kept one eye and ear on the door just to make sure no one noticed the two of them where they were huddled behind the frosted glass. If the king came out of his conference and caught sight of what Noct had done before Ignis had properly finished cleaning it up… Better yet, if he saw _Ignis_ messing with the portrait and jumped to conclusions… Well, after his fight with Gladio, that was really all he needed to make this a perfect mess of a day.

It took far longer than Ignis had originally anticipated to return the painting to its former state, and he was practically going cross-eyed with how closely he searched for even the slightest bit of evidence that it had been tampered with. Noct, of course, had repeatedly told him how _fine_ it looked and that _you’d never know_ , but Ignis wasn’t satisfied until he’d checked it over one last time. He considered it a favorable turn of events that the prince had only used pencil. Difficult as it was to get the graphite off the paint without the ancient portrait chipping under the pressure, marker or pen would have been absolutely disastrous.

By the time Ignis led Noct away from the scene of the crime and headed back towards the kitchens, his heart was beating wildly in his chest from the adrenaline-inducing prospect of being caught. They’d been lucky this time, though, and were spared the lecture. Ignis had a few choice words he would have liked to share with Noct about his irresponsibility, but they caught in his throat at the look of guilt that crossed the prince’s face a few times as he watched Ignis scrubbing away his graffiti. Remorse wouldn’t be enough to keep him from doing it again, but he knew he shouldn’t have and apologized with his eyes, so Ignis would give him a pass this time.

_Who are you kidding?_ a voice that sounded disturbingly similar to Gladio’s sneered. _You’ll always give him a pass._

Ignis couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it, though. Noct had always been remarkably stubborn and adventurous; it was in his nature. Although it had taken a different form after his injury, that spirit remained and was growing more restless by the year, it seemed. There was simply no reconciling the prince’s personality with the expectations that were already heaped upon his narrow shoulders even at such a young age. Weapons training, attending public school, attending private lessons _after_ school, weekly meetings with his father—all of it was in direct contrast to Noct’s desire for solitary exploration of the world around him. Perhaps, had his upbringing been different, there would have been more opportunity for him to achieve the freedom he so desired. Being a prince, however, had its disadvantages.

If anything, Ignis was convinced that that was precisely what had caused today’s silent (and fortunately less destructive) outburst. Noct generally avoided making a mess unless he was in poor spirits, and based on the forlorn expression he wore every time Ignis furtively glanced sidelong at him, it was clear that _something_ had upset him. Ignis sighed internally at the thought; if he was lucky, he would only have to pull a couple of teeth in order to determine the cause.

First things first. Dessert, then prying. Sugar would help to put the prince into a more receptive state of mind, right?

“They look…just like all the others,” commented Noct flatly when they reached the kitchens and he caught a glimpse of the cooling pastries.

_Oh, yes. He’s certainly in a mood today._

It was with as much patience as he could muster that Ignis replied, “Well, as I only have your description of their appearance as my guide, I would assume that they _should_ be identical.”

He hadn’t meant to say it quite as sharply as he did, and Noct’s eyes hit the floor as he nodded apologetically. This wasn’t exactly going to plan. Forcing down his irritation, Ignis struggled to remind himself of his new purpose—to discern what was bothering his charge for the purposes of remedying any ills—before he tried again.

“I believe you’ll find that the taste is quite different from the last batch,” he wheedled with a small, albeit strained smile. “Would you care to test one?”

Noct shrugged a shoulder listlessly without returning Ignis’s gaze or making a move towards the plate waiting for him on the counter. It was difficult for Ignis not to sigh at the setback he’d caused.

_Very well. If the chocobo will not go to the water…_

It appeared that they would both be standing there for the rest of the evening if Ignis didn’t make the first move. So, he crossed the distance between where Noct stood rooted to the spot and the nearest cabinet, reaching up to pull down two small dessert plates and pointedly setting them on the counter. He tried not to look up at Noct, especially when he spied the prince watching from the corner of his eye, and focused all of his attention instead on settling one pastry on each plate. His hand hovered over the bag of confectioner’s sugar he’d left out, and he wondered momentarily if adding more would make it too sweet before deciding that he may as well go all out. Noct liked sweet things, after all. And pretty much any other form of food that contained no nutritional value whatsoever.

When everything was set and Noct still hadn’t moved to join him, Ignis tutted teasingly. “Well, come on, then. If we’re going to ruin your appetite for dinner and incur the disapproval of your father, we may as well do it sooner rather than later,” he mused with a long-suffering sigh. It wasn’t until he leveled a calm and slightly mischievous smirk at the prince that the latter broke free of his invisible restraints, replying with a shy smile as he padded closer. Ignis immediately pushed a plate toward him, waiting with bated breath while Noct inspected the perfectly rounded pastry with a careful eye. He was never this scrutinizing, generally believing that anything edible would do (if it wasn’t vegetables, of course), so Ignis knew he’d finally brought down some of the prince’s defenses. If he had any luck at all, the rest would collapse with the first bite…

The first long, _painfully_ slow bite.

Now Noct was just taunting him, chewing with the slow deliberation of the shrewdest culinary critic the way he always did when Ignis presented him with a new recipe he’d crafted. Ignis was well aware that Noct was too good a friend to ever tell him he didn’t like something, as he’d found out the fun way when the prince valiantly soldiered through an entire bowl of chocobo-garula stew only to be reintroduced to it ten minutes later on its way back up; it simply wasn’t in the prince’s nature to be cruel when Ignis made a mistake. Certainly, he would rib him for a few days about a wayward ingredient or charred edge, but it was all in good fun and served as a reminder for Ignis in the process of learning his way around a kitchen.

So, when Noct grinned at him through blue-stained teeth and said, “Not quite,” Ignis didn’t take it to heart. Much.

“I see…”

“The berries’re too thick.”

“Perhaps I added too much cornstarch.”

“And it’s kinda sour.”

“…I _definitely_ added too much cornstarch.”

“But it’s still really good,” Noct reassured him, taking another big bite for good measure. Ignis couldn’t help but smile at the way his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s around the botched mixture.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he replied wryly, chuckling when Noct nodded emphatically. Watching closely for another moment, Ignis waited until he was positive that Noct was _finally_ in better spirits before casually inquiring, “How did your meeting with your father go?”

Just like that, the smile melted off Noct’s face faster than he’d inhaled the already extinct pastry, only it left no residue the way his dessert had on his fingers.

_Aha. So that’s it._

Oblivious to Ignis’s realization, Noct swallowed his mouthful and mumbled, “Went fine.”

“It certainly doesn’t _sound_ like it went fine,” prodded Ignis gently. If he pushed too far, Noct would shut down; being best friends did not exempt Ignis from the prince’s frequent sullen silences, especially when dealing with difficult situations the latter was already reluctant to discuss.

Very helpfully, Noct simply shrugged again.

Ignis sighed. Apparently, he would be doing all the work in this conversation. “What did he wish to discuss?”

Incoherent muttering.

“Pardon?”

Grunting in muted frustration, Noct repeated, “How training’s going.”

“Ah. And was he satisfied with your progress?”

That earned Ignis a snort. “He’s never _satisfied with my progress_ ,” echoed Noct mockingly, rolling his eyes. “He said I’m not trying hard enough and I’m way behind.”

Nodding slowly, Ignis hesitantly inquired, “Are you?”

“What?”

“Trying.”

Noct offered him a deadpan expression that answered the question for him, but he still replied, “Duh, Specs. It’s just really hard.”

_Ah. I seem to have struck a nerve. A bit more caution from here, then._

“Did you tell _him_ that?” prompted Ignis. It was a simple question, one he wouldn’t have asked most other people in the same situation, but given Noct’s penchant for closing off rather than divulging the full extent of his efforts to those who criticized him, it was fitting enough.

Indeed, the way the tips of his ears reddened in response told Ignis all he needed to know.

“You realize that if you don’t _tell_ your father that you’re trying, he won’t _believe_ that you are?”

“Not like it matters,” Noct immediately shot back, collapsing onto one of the stools across the counter and staring dejectedly down at the floor. “He only listens to _Gladio_.”

And there it was—Ignis’s day had finally come full circle. His mind automatically darted back to their earlier argument, drudging up memories of Gladio’s accusations regarding Noct’s inability and lack of motivation. Hearing him tell it, one would believe that the prince fought him tooth and nail not to have to do anything in their training sessions. Ignis, however, knew at least a bit better. He’d dropped in unexpectedly enough times to know that Noct simply _couldn’t_ keep up with Gladio at this stage. Not only was he still new to swordplay, but his small stature compared with Gladio’s muscular build was a recipe for failure and the prince had very little patience for such things as it was when it came to his own performance. If Gladio intimated _half_ of what he did to Ignis in his updates to the king… Well, there would be no question as to why King Regis had berated Noct so thoroughly.

There was one thing that had never come up in Ignis’s conversations with either Noct or Gladio, however, and he found himself querying, “Have you spoken to Gladio about the situation? Let him know that you are having difficulty?”

Noct’s face scrunched up in a sour expression. “No.”

“Have you ever consi—“

“ _No_ ,” he interrupted, folding his arms defensively over his chest. “He doesn’t listen anyway.”

That was one thing Ignis was unable to argue with. There was no doubt in his mind that Gladio _meant_ well, but there was quite a sizable disconnect between the future Shield’s _intentions_ and his _actions_. What he thought was firm generally tended to be more abrasive than he probably realized; his matter-of-fact, rather abrupt approach to just about everything was just as likely to engender ire as it was respect. Noct, who was far more sensitive than he cared to admit, never stood a chance.

“If you like,” Ignis offered, already knowing the answer, “I can always speak with him on your behalf.”

Groaning, Noct shook his head vehemently. “No way. He’ll just think I came whining to you like a big baby.”

“ _Well_ …” Ignis blocked the bit of crust that Noct threw at his face with a smirk and placed a second pastry on his plate as a peace offering. Noct did little more than pick at it, his expression morose, and Ignis sighed internally. Something had to give, and he was growing rather concerned that it would be _Noct_ if they didn’t act soon. He understood the prince’s reticence to share his thoughts with his father and Gladio, but that was the only way Ignis could see for the issue to be resolved besides doing it himself. As it was quite obvious that Noct would rather sink into the floor than have Ignis speak in his favor, however, Ignis’s hands were tied on the matter.

It was difficult not to be a bit put out with Noct for rendering him so helpless when the former was struggling—wasn’t it Ignis’s _job_ to help him through the hard times? Wasn’t it his _duty_ to make things as simple for Noct as they could be, not just as his advisor but as his friend? At what point did the prince’s needs outweigh his stubbornness and allow Ignis to do whatever the bloody hell he wanted, Noct’s refusal be damned?

_Not at_ this _particular point_ , Ignis rebuked himself. _One wrong step, and he’ll never trust you again._

There was already enough of that in the prince’s life. The last thing he needed was for his closest friend and future advisor to betray his trust when it was fragile to begin with.

Perhaps that was why an alternative occurred to him—a terrible, awful, unbelievably _stupid_ alternative. Anymore, Ignis wasn’t sure there was any other kind.

“You know…” he began slowly, not sure how to proceed. Well, that was a bit of a lie: he knew _exactly_ how to proceed, but once he did, there was no turning back. Unfortunately, he’d already chosen his path, and Noct was staring at him quizzically.

“What?”

_It’s a fine mess you’ll be getting yourself into, but go on, then._

Nervously clearing his throat, Ignis pressed on, “I was just going to recommend that…maybe you need to take some time to…decompress?” At Noct’s uncomprehending expression, he explained, “I mean, you have been rather busy between school and your various lessons here. It may be beneficial for you to…take an evening to yourself. If you understand my meaning.”

A second passed—and another—then understanding dawned on Noct’s face as it split into a wide grin. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’d be okay with it?”

“Would I have recommended it otherwise?”

“Probably.”

Ignis rolled his eyes. There was no denying that Noct had a point. In the last four years, they had slipped out of the Citadel more times than Ignis could count, and not all of those occasions were exclusively Noct’s ideas. It wasn’t that Ignis had somehow abandoned his senses—far from it. With every passing year, he hoped that Noct would grow tired of these risky escapades and that they would slowly taper off on their own. With every passing year, his hopes were dashed. No, it wasn’t a matter of Ignis conducting the same sort of rebellious streak that he was almost fearful of witnessing in Noct when he was older; rather, he merely didn’t want to see the prince sneak out on his own in the belief that Ignis wouldn’t go with him for fear of being caught. It had been a while since their last outing, and every now and then, Noct _needed_ a moment of freedom. He required time to breathe where he didn’t have to be the crown prince of Lucis, at least not in his own mind. In a sense, it was Ignis’s job to see to it that Noct had that opportunity, and he was worried enough to accompany him every time. If the only way he could _win_ was to _lose_ , then so be it.

If the relief and gratitude staring back at him from those blue eyes were any indication, Ignis was going to be… _winning_ again very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes: 
> 
> 1\. The quote from King Regis about honesty comes from the story chronologically preceding this one, "Royal Burdens."  
> 2\. The conflict between Gladio and Noct is from the "Brotherhood" anime, particularly episode three. Gladio makes no bones about the fact that he doesn't think Noct will be a good king in a conversation with Iris, and he is frequently hostile towards Noct until the latter just so happens to help Iris out of a tight spot. I included this conversation, with some noticeable references to Ignis's outburst in Cartanica, because it just seems like the sort of discussion they have had before. In the game, Gladio wasn't surprised to hear that Noct needed time and would be the King of Kings when he was "ready." It made me think that they've been around this circle before, hence its appearance here.  
> 3\. The reason for the extra chapter is that I forgot one bit that desperately needed to be included: that Noct "leaves his mark" on one of the paintings of the prophecy in the antechamber outside the throne room. When you enter the Citadel before the final battle, if you move to examine the paintings on the wall by the door, a conversation will start between Noct and Ignis. Ignis mentions that a "young prince" left his mark on a painting and wondered if it was still there; Noct replies that he doubted anyone would see it since one of his "attendants" covered it up pretty well. I had to write that. HAD to. The next chapter will be a continuation of the situation in this one.  
> 4\. The ages are an approximate guess based on the timeline in the official guide. The image of Noct in the episode of "Brotherhood" where he trains with Gladio corresponds with his twelve-year-old self in the guide, meaning Gladio is fifteen at the time. As their relationship in the anime is clearly still new, I assume that they haven't been training together that long.  
> 5\. Ignis's hopes of Noct's excursions tapering off being "dashed" comes from the "Parting Ways" novel.
> 
> Thank you for reading and all of your kind words in the comments! I know I've said it before, but I'll say it a million times if I have to: seeing your reactions makes me happier than words can describe. Thank you so much. :)


	4. Red-Handed

Ignis rarely liked to gloat. There were, however, a few objective truths about himself that made him appear conceited on the occasions when he dared to mention them. He was intelligent, quick on the uptake, and highly adaptable to whatever task was expected of him. His academic performance was extraordinary, and he was never scolded for acting with anything less than absolute responsibility. Some called him a prodigy, others a wonder. The path he had chosen to walk and the future it would lead him into was indeed a bright one.

He rarely liked to gloat, but he had to admit that the plan he’d formulated over the past week was a stroke of genius.

It began an hour before midnight. Noct unsurprisingly arrived right on time; his punctuality was selective and always chose their excursions as worthy of its presence. By the time he slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind him, Ignis had prepared everything they would need and immediately dumped the bundle of blankets and pillows into Noct’s arms until the prince’s face was hardly visible over the top. That was probably for the best given the intensity of the glare he was subjected to for making _Noct_ the pack chocobo in this scenario. It was really the only way this plan was going to work, though, as he insisted to the prince with thinly stretched patience and a reminder that they didn’t have any _better_ ideas.

Like it or not, their old haunts were strictly off limits, at least to Ignis. The days had long past when he could slip through the same windows and maintenance tunnels to emerge outside the Citadel the way he had when they were younger. Noct’s shoulders were still narrow enough, but Ignis’s were too broad to make the squeeze. It had meant unending creativity when it came to sneaking out in recent years, and thus far, they had yet to be caught. The last thing either of them needed was Noct’s irritation at their plan destroying the whole endeavor.

Despite his youth and Ignis’s reservations, the prince came to terms with their plight relatively quickly. He was still put out that he was the one hauling their load, but he didn’t complain as Ignis held the door open and ducked out into the corridor.

“You sure about this?” he whispered. When Ignis glanced down at him, it was to find a glimmer of anxiety in those barely visible blue eyes that was often absent in their past expeditions. Of course, that was to be expected; this was the first one Ignis had complete control over, and any failure would be _his_.

“As sure as one can be in such situations,” evaded Ignis automatically, directing his eyes forward once more. Confident as he was, there was no hiding the fact that he couldn’t be entirely positive his plan would be successful. If there were no guards to concern themselves with, it would have been simple. However, humans were nothing if not complex and unpredictable, regardless of how strict their patrol schedules could be.

Noct didn’t question him again, although his stiff gait told Ignis he wasn’t entirely convinced either. That was good—as king, he would need to learn to be critical of all advice, even Ignis’s.

Now if _only_ he was a better actor in the face of it.

Sighing, Ignis put an arm around Noct’s thin shoulders and guided him around the corner towards the elevators. He didn’t bother silencing or masking the sound of their footsteps as they approached the first guard stationed along the way. It was all Ignis could do not to balk when the latter’s sharp gaze immediately landed on them, piercing his confidence and letting it deflate in his chest. The guard’s eyes narrowed further in suspicion when they found the prince by his side.

“Highness. Master Scientia,” he greeted them, bowing stiffly at the waist while simultaneously keeping them in his sights. “You should not be wandering the corridors at night.”

Ignis nodded as firmly as he could and jostled Noct by his side. “With all due respect, His Highness was having difficulty sleeping and I’m afraid we have exhausted our supply of reading material. I was planning to escort him to the library in the hopes of helping him find rest. If that’s agreeable.”

The guard said nothing for a moment, surveying them as though he could spy the lie tattooed to their foreheads if he looked hard enough. Fortunately, Ignis was well practiced in the art of diplomatically bland expressions, and Noct’s face was almost entirely obscured by the blankets he clutched tightly to his chest. If the guard noticed the prince’s shallow breaths, however, he must have chalked them up to whatever nightmares were reportedly keeping him awake as he straightened and nodded towards the elevators further down the hall.

“As you wish, but not without an escort from the Crownsguard,” he agreed sternly, already setting off at a quick pace with the obvious expectation that they would follow.

“I would expect no less,” murmured Ignis. He shot Noct a brief, bracing smile and towed the prince along in the guard’s wake. If Noct leaned a little closer into his side in relief, neither of them would mention it.

Their journey to the library was a quiet one, only their footsteps daring to break the heavy silence. It was so surreal, knowing what they had planned while still under the close supervision of the Crownsguard. They weren’t sneaking through the shadows, climbing out windows, or any of the usual nonsense that Noct generally tended to enjoy. That wasn’t to say that this couldn’t all go horribly wrong and find him booted straight out of the Citadel by dawn’s first light, of course, but it somehow felt more exhilarating to be engaging in such subterfuge right under the noses of the adults in their lives.

 _And it’s thoughts like_ that _that get people exiled._

Mentally shaking himself, Ignis waved Noct ahead of him as they stepped off the elevator and made their way down the corridor towards the library. There were fewer guards here, stationed at longer intervals at the very ends of the hall in light of the fact that no one frequented this part of the Citadel at this time of night. Well, _ordinarily_. That was probably the reason why their eyes followed Ignis and Noct in mild interest when they passed. He nodded respectfully to them in silent greeting, maintaining the appearance that this venture was commonplace. Any show of weakness had the potential to arouse suspicion, which was one thing they did _not_ need.

Why should the prince be nervous to travel around his own palace? Why should his advisor avert his eyes in shame in a place he called home?

They shouldn’t, so they wouldn’t.

They would hold their heads up high and straighten their shoulders. They would nod gratefully to the guard who had escorted them and politely thank him for agreeing to remain outside the door until they were ready to return to their rooms.

They would lie through their teeth and grin all the while.

“Exhausted our supply of _reading material_?” Noct snorted as soon as they were alone, shaking his head critically.

Ignis gestured for him to be quiet and led the way further into the library to put a few stacks between them and the door before he hotly replied, “I don’t suppose you had a better excuse for us being out of bed at this hour?”

“You coulda told him we had homework.”

“And why exactly would you be working on _homework_ at nearly midnight? You can hardly be bothered to do it in daylight.”

“…Okay, yeah…”

Rolling his eyes, Ignis plucked Noct’s load out of his arms and set it on one of the plush armchairs by the window on the far side of the library. His paranoia was getting the best of him despite his attempt at the contrary, and he repeatedly glanced over his shoulder to make sure the guard hadn’t changed his mind about staying outside. Distractedly, he continued, “We needed to get here, and there are very few reasons why we would need a library in the middle of the night. Bedtime stories were the most plausible.”

“I’m not a _baby_ , Specs. I don’t need bedtime stories.”

“Is that so?” Ignis inquired lightly with a shrewdly quirked eyebrow. “Then, I suppose there’s no need for us to continue the _Justice Monsters Five_ novels anymore?”

That one struck a nerve—Noct’s eyes popped out of his head faster than he could down dessert, and Ignis nodded in satisfaction that his point had been made. There were very few pieces of genuine literature that Noct would willingly allow himself to be exposed to, so Ignis made do where he could. If that meant nightly readings of novels based on a silly video game… Well, at least it was _something_.

Clearing his throat, Ignis didn’t wait for Noct to voice his protests before brusquely stating, “Now, if it’s all the same to you, we have a limited window of time within which to work.”

“R-right… So…what’s the plan?”

 _This_ was the part Ignis _hadn’t_ mentioned when they’d spoken before. In an attempt to make this experience all the more enjoyable and relaxing for Noct, he thought it best that the burden of planning their escape fell to him and him alone. The last thing the prince needed was to be distracted with frivolities when he was supposed to be proving to Gladio and King Regis that he truly _was_ putting in his greatest effort with regards to his training. The idea for their outing was therefore left entirely to Ignis’s expertise. It was a difficult secret to keep, he had to admit, but well worth the effort. Of course, it was also arguably the stupidest, most reckless idea he’d had in his life, but he tried not to think of that.

Instead, he pointed towards the window and lowered his voice against potentially prying ears to whisper, “From here, we make our way down to the garden and out to the perimeter. Then it’s a simple matter of getting over the fence.”

“Simple?” scoffed Noct, staring at him like he’d grown an extra nose. “We can’t climb the fence. It’s got those things at the top.”

“The detection rings, you mean.”

“Yeah. How’re we supposed to get past them? My dad and half the Kingsglaive’ll know as soon as we get to the top.”

Ignis nodded reasonably, utterly unperturbed. As if in answer, he tossed the blankets and pillows they’d hauled down with them aside to reveal the black backpack he’d been using on their excursions for four years. In the front pocket were two lengths of rope, both of which he retrieved and held out for Noct to inspect.

“You assume that we would be _climbing_ the fence to get over the top. That would be both dangerous and entirely unnecessary—the drop on the opposite side is too far to risk without undue potential for injury,” mused Ignis, not realizing he’d digressed until he caught Noct’s exasperated, impatient expression. “Anyway, as I was saying. There are trees that hang over the fence. If we are careful—and very, very _lucky_ —we may be able to use them to our advantage."

“And use the rope to climb the _tree_ , not the _fence_ ,” deduced Noct. His face split into a wide grin as he exclaimed, “Iggy, you’re a genius!”

Ignis hushed him immediately, casting a glance toward the door and listening hard for any sign that they had been joined. After a few seconds of silence, he allowed himself to relax and only shot Noct a _mildly_ reproachful look before shrugging.

“Come now, it’s nothing special. Anyone could have thought of it.”

Scuffing his shoe against the marble floor, Noct shuffled despondently and muttered, “I didn’t.”

The words Noct _didn’t_ say spoke volumes more than those he did. Ignis didn’t need to see his eyes to know that they were swimming with fear that perhaps what his father thought was _true_ , that he somehow wasn’t up to snuff the way he should be by now. Ignis didn’t have to hear the uncertainty in his voice to realize that he was thinking of all the times Gladio had told him he wasn’t doing enough—that _he_ wasn’t enough—and wondering if there was some truth to that as well. Ignis didn’t have to see it for him to know it was there all the same.

“You _would_ have,” Ignis assured him gently, reaching out to squeeze his shoulders until Noct deigned to look at him again. He continued with a wry smirk, “I sometimes wonder if you choose the more strenuous path purely to vex me, Highness.”

That made Noct chuckle in spite of himself, and Ignis’s heart warmed at the grateful smile the prince aimed up at him. Still, it wasn’t as though they could possibly share a _tender_ moment given Noct’s penchant for sarcasm, so he ruined it by smirking, “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Toes, I can work with. It’s the persistent heart attacks that frustrate me more.”

They bantered back and forth for a while as they made their final preparations, and Ignis kept one ear trained on the door just in case they had an unexpected visitor before he’d anticipated. As it turned out, however, he needn’t have worried: their guard was surprisingly courteous when it came to their privacy, or at least Noct’s. It was too optimistic to believe that he wouldn’t pop his head in at some point, but he didn’t make a habit of it. After about half an hour of enduring Noct’s whining that they should get going, Ignis was vindicated when the sound of the door opening cut through their conversation. He barely managed to usher Noct under a blanket (to hide the plain street clothes Ignis had brought for him to change into, obviously) and settle in his own seat with a book in hand before the guard peered around the stacks to ask if they needed anything. Once they answered in the negative, he was off, and Ignis had to cough to hide his sneer at being right. Time was waning too fast for gloating. Besides, Noct didn’t complain when they waited an extra ten minutes before abandoning the façade, so Ignis would take that as all the victory he required.

Well, that and Noct’s face when Ignis added the finishing touch to his disguise.

“Aw, come on, Specs—“

“Noct,” Ignis interrupted sternly, holding up a finger in warning, “we agreed that if we were to do this, it would be under my terms. Correct?”

Frowning, Noct folded his arms with a pout and muttered, “Yes…”

“And we also agreed that if I told you to do something, you would do so without question or hesitation. Correct?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Well, I am telling you now that you are to keep that hat on until we return to this room. If you choose not to heed my instructions, then I am afraid there will be no more excursions in the near future. Do I make myself quite clear?”

It wasn’t often that Ignis pulled the trump card on Noct—a threat of ending their outings that he never _truly_ expected to follow through on—but this wasn’t the time to be weak. He had never asked Noct to wear a disguise before, but this wasn’t exactly going to be a normal journey. Unbeknownst to Noct, they weren’t just going outside the gates; they were going into the _city_. True to its name, Insomnia was always filled with people bustling from place to place, even at this hour. Not all of them would recognize the prince immediately, yet it wasn’t a risk Ignis was willing to take. If they passed the wrong person, if the latter noticed the head of shaggy black hair and made the connection… It didn’t do to consider the possibilities, and Ignis had already pondered them _all_ at least a dozen times each day during the process of planning this venture.

He needed to keep Noct safe. If that meant feeling a bit guilty for the despondent way Noct agreed to his terms and hid beneath the bill of his hat, so be it. At least he was alive to make Ignis feel bad.

With the matter settled, Ignis led the way from their spot by the window to the spiral staircase that would guide them down into the garden. It was rather a genius design, to be sure: if the royal family wanted privacy, they didn’t have to stroll through the main halls of the Citadel just to get some peace. For Ignis and Noct’s purposes, of course, it meant another escape route that would be much safer than their usual antics.

Ignis took point, Noct tripping over his heels a few times in his haste to follow. It was a simple matter to get through the garden given how frequently they had practiced in the past, and soon they were crawling through the open window and out into the night. From there, it was only a short jog to the nearest overhanging branch that Ignis judged sturdy enough to hold their combined weight.

“Hold this,” he murmured, settling his backpack in Noct’s hands and retrieving the rope he’d stashed inside after explaining the plan to Noct. Ignis was glad he’d had the foresight to attach a metal weight to the edge (he doubted the king’s chamberlain would miss the paperweight overmuch), otherwise he never would have gotten the rope to soar over the branch and drop down for him to tie a hasty knot on the other side.

It was in that moment, however, that he realized there was one thing that hadn’t occurred to him before. Turning to Noct, he apologetically asked, “Can you climb?”

Anyone else would have been offended. Noct, however, merely took that as a challenge if the state of his mischievous grin was anything to go by. He didn’t deign to answer and instead stepped right past Ignis, grabbed the rope, and scurried up like he’d done it a million times.

_Well, I suppose that answers that._

It took Ignis a bit longer to reach Noct’s position, but it was only to be expected when he carried more weight and mass to haul into the tree. The prince didn’t care either way; his smug smirk wouldn’t have changed regardless, although Ignis thought it would perhaps have been a bit milder if he weren’t huffing and puffing like a bellows by the time he ascended. Without dignifying Noct’s self-satisfaction with a response, Ignis directed him to scoot along the branch and climb down the trunk. He would have preferred to go first so that, should Noct’s precarious perch outweigh his skill, he would have a better chance of helping from the ground. There wasn’t enough room to maneuver themselves into such a position, however, so he had to make do with bated breath until Noct’s feet touched solid earth.

“Sooooo… You gonna tell me where we’re going now?” the prince asked after Ignis had joined him and set a brisk pace towards the lights of the city.

“I believe I promised it would be a _surprise_.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“How shocking,” Ignis snorted dryly. “I never would have believed it.”

He may have deserved the punch to the shoulder he received for his cheek. Maintaining his show of frustration to mask his innocent eagerness, Noct countered, “’S’not like I’m not gonna find out in, like, five minutes.”

“Is that a fact?” he asked, not rising to the prince’s digging for clues. To his credit, Noct was relentless in his curiosity and eventually dropped all pretext of sensibility to tug insistently at Ignis’s sleeve as they navigated their way through the throngs of people still wandering Insomnia’s streets.

One of the benefits of living in such a crowded city was that no one paid them any mind. There were few children Noct’s age on the street at present, but he still didn’t draw much attention even with his incessant guessing at their destination. Ignis supposed it had to do with his own presence. It was hard to deny that he didn’t exactly appear very…young at the moment, at least not in the traditional sense. His hair was combed carefully to the side and his vest was pristine over top of his crisp white button-up. Of course, it had all been hidden beneath a black jacket until they got past the most strenuous part of their escape—climbing trees in fine apparel was tantamount to sacrilege—but none of his attire was the worse for wear. He supposed that, to the untrained eye, he appeared to be some sort of business intern, not a fourteen-year-old escort to the prince of Lucis. It was all the more to their benefit: as each pair of eyes slid over them as though they didn’t exist, Ignis could breathe easier.

That is, until they came to a halt outside a very familiar establishment.

“No way…”

Ignis smiled. “Yes. Way.”

“But…” Noct shook his head like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Dad said I had to wait for the weekend.”

Indeed, that had been another consideration weighing on Ignis’s mind. He doubted it would be viewed as treason to go against this particular wish, though. There was a fine line between a king declaring orders to a prince and a father instructing his son. Ignis frequently reminded himself of that barrier every day as he sought balance between advisor and friend, and he was very well aware that there _was_ a rather glaring difference. Which was why, against his best judgment, he’d made the decision to bring Noct here in the first place.

“Well, Noct,” he shrugged, “I suppose what His Majesty doesn’t know won’t hurt him, as the saying goes.”

If smiles were sunlight, the world would never have darkened again. Noct’s exuberance was infectious, and Ignis found himself grinning as the former grabbed his sleeve and yanked him into the video game store. He obviously hadn’t considered the fact that he had no money with him, but Ignis was willing to forgive his oversight in light of the fact that this was the prince’s first time attending a midnight release. It was something he had mentioned doing in the past, although neither of them had entertained the idea for long as the knowledge that the king would never approve to Noct leaving the Citadel in the middle of the night brought all hopes to naught. As such, Ignis could overlook the guilt and anxiety that had twisted his gut for the past week in favor of joy at being able to give Noct this gift. He wouldn’t even insist that the prince pay him back for the money he was about to spend from his allowance to see to it the former was the next proud owner of the new _King’s Knight_ console title.

The quite frankly _ridiculous_ sum of money. _Why on earth are_ games _so expensive!?_

It was worth it—worth the money, worth the time, worth the fear that they would be caught. Ignis would do it all over again if given the choice. Every moment he had spent on planning this evening and all he’d risked in the process was nothing compared with the reward.

The return trip seemed far quicker than their escape, although given the considerably lighter mood, Ignis wasn’t altogether surprised. Every time he glanced over at the prince, at his excitement-flushed cheeks and carefree smile, he could only mourn the fact that moments like these could never last. Tomorrow (or later today, he supposed), Noct would go back to training and have to deal with Gladio’s constant verbal sparring. He would meet with his father and answer for any inadequacies in his progress. He would return to being Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, crown prince of Lucis and Chosen King of the Crystal. The weight would return to his shoulders, and he would begin to drown again until the next time Ignis could arrange to remove him from his responsibilities for just a few more hours.

As such, Ignis found himself already considering what their next outing should be as they climbed their chosen tree and dropped down into the Citadel’s perimeter, pausing a moment to yank the rope free and hide the evidence of their presence. He wondered what would be best—staying close or wandering into the city again—as they slipped back through the window to the garden and trudged up the stairs into the library, the late hour beginning to drag at their heels.

Then, all thinking stopped. So did his heart.

Because Cor the Immortal was standing at the top of the spiral staircase with the guard from earlier, his expression deadly calm and his eyes zeroed in on Ignis.

 

***

 

The Marshal’s office was different from what Ignis would have expected. With an epithet like _The Immortal_ , he would have thought weapons would be adorning the walls alongside legendary tapestries weaving the stories of the Marshal’s victories against all foes foreign and domestic. In his imagination as a child, he’d always visualized an imposing room full of items that would make a guilty man sweat in trepidation the way Ignis had been from the moment the Marshal had sent Noct to his father and whisked Ignis away in the opposite direction.

Instead, it was just…an office. A room with a desk and two chairs, a bookcase in the corner, and a window on the far wall overlooking the city as the sky above turned grey with the coming dawn. There were no tapestries, no weapons—but then, Ignis supposed that they were unnecessary. The daunting silhouette outlined in the light from the window was unsettling enough, and it was all Ignis could do to remain on his feet as he waited for the Marshal to say something. _Anything_.

He hadn’t yet. With the exception of his initial instructions for their traitorous ( _dutiful_ , he reminded himself) guard, Noct, and Ignis, Cor hadn’t uttered a word. In silence, they had ascended to his office, and in silence they stood now. Part of Ignis wished that he would shout, scream in his face, even hit him. The weight of his disapproval was far worse than any other punishment Ignis could imagine, bar being removed from the Citadel entirely. Which, it seemed, was a very real possibility at this stage.

Time stretched on until grey lightened gradually to blue, and when the Marshal finally decided to speak, Ignis found words had abandoned him.

“Do you have any idea the gravity of your actions?”

It took a few moments before Ignis, swallowing hard, could meekly reply, “Yes, sir.”

“Are you aware of what could have happened not only to _you_ , but to the _prince_ , in your foolishness?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And yet you chose to abscond with the prince away from the Citadel, regardless of the risks involved.”

Ignis didn’t bother answering that one. It wasn’t a question, and the response had been on display for all to see the moment they had returned.

Shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath, the Marshal finally turned away from the window to level Ignis with a steady, stern glare that turned his blood to ice in his veins. “Your job is to advise the prince, to guide him. How can you be trusted to do so when you make decisions like these?”

There it was. This was it: the moment they would remove him from the Citadel—from Noct’s side—forever. Ignis wanted to do something, to argue in his own defense and rail against the very thought, but…there was nothing to say. He _had_ made this choice and ones like it in the past. He had planned to make even more despite the potential consequences involved. The only other person to blame for their indiscretions was Noct, and Ignis would never tell the Marshal of his active involvement. Let them believe that Ignis was a bad influence, that he had _absconded_ with the prince in a fit of reckless abandon—he could survive their disdain, even if his heart might break at the penalties he would incur. To sell Noct down the proverbial river to save himself, however, was unforgivable and therefore unthinkable.

So, Ignis whispered the only thing he could think of: “When would you like me to pack my belongings?”

The Marshal didn’t answer for a long moment, and Ignis wondered if he was silently laughing at the idea that Ignis would get off with so slight a punishment as removal from the Citadel. Oh, there were _so_ many other options before they came to that—torture, imprisonment, _execution_ —

“What do you mean, Ignis?”

Blinking in confusion, Ignis hazarded a glance up at the Marshal. His befuddlement only increased to see that Cor was frowning not in anger, but in puzzlement, as though he truly didn’t understand what Ignis was referring to. Ignis shook his head, stammering, “Certainly, the…the king would be well within his right t-to have me…r-removed from my station…”

More silence, then the Marshal actually _chuckled_. It was a dry, humorless sound, and Ignis could do nothing more than watch in perplexed agony as he strode behind his desk and collapsed heavily into his chair, motioning for Ignis to do the same.

Only once Ignis was seated did he respond, “You have been the prince’s closest confidante and constant companion since he was little more than a toddler, and you not much older. Barring accusations of treason, I doubt you will have to worry about being removed from your position.”

 _Isn’t that what I did?_ he wanted to ask. _Commit treason by removing the prince from his home, his guards, and taking him into the city where anything could have happened to him!?_

Ignis’s lips wouldn’t move to make the question real, so he merely stared at the Marshal as if the latter would be able to read his mind. If he could, Cor made no mention of it and continued as though Ignis’s response wasn’t necessary.

“Your position within the Citadel is safeguarded, Ignis. One mistake is not enough for the king to cast you aside, although you are right—he very well could have. You are fortunate he is an understanding ruler. His predecessor would not have been so kind.”

“Of course, sir,” blurted Ignis without thinking, flinching at the sound of his own voice. He had read plenty of stories about how the Lucian kings frequently dealt with insubordination amongst their aides. Some were indeed more forgiving than others, and the latter could be downright frightening depending on the situation. That Ignis was present during the reign of King Regis was a stroke of luck in itself. That he would be allowed to remain at the Citadel unpunished was a miracle.

Or, at least, _mostly_ unpunished.

“However,” the somewhat comforting tone (or as close to it as the Marshal was capable of using) faded quickly, and when Ignis met his eyes again, the Marshal’s gaze was cool, “I must impress upon you the seriousness of your actions, and the necessity that they _never_ be repeated. If anything had happened to the prince tonight—if he had been recognized and abducted or killed—it would have been your responsibility, as would the blame.”

As Ignis’s mind filled with images of Noctis in pain and alone in any number of dark places, he swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and tried to blink away the tears that suddenly swam in his eyes. Taking a tremulous breath, he hoarsely promised, “It won’t happen again, sir.”

“See to it that it doesn’t.”

That seemed to be as close to a dismissal as he would be getting, and Ignis was halfway out of his seat when the Marshal stopped him.

“You understand that many of your privileges will be revoked indefinitely in light of these events.”

Ignis winced. It was unsurprising, yes, but still undesirable.

_It is far more desirable than wondering what you’re going to do with the rest of your life and how the bloody hell you’re going to tell Noctis about it._

“I understand, sir,” he mumbled, keeping his tone even and remorseful. The last thing he wanted was to sound ungrateful for the mercy he was being shown and find himself in hotter water than he was already slogging through.

Cor nodded, announcing, “You will have a strict curfew. Both you and the prince will have guards on your doors for the foreseeable future after you return for the evening. If you should need to leave your quarters for any reason, you will be accompanied. Until you can again prove yourself trustworthy, your ability to come and go from the Citadel as you please is substantially limited. Do you understand these terms?”

“I do, sir.”

“Good.” The Marshal stood, gesturing toward the door in what was _actually_ a dismissal this time. “One of the Crownsguard will escort you back to your room. Get some sleep—you have lessons in a couple of hours.”

It was difficult not to groan aloud at the reminder—he had, after all, thought they would be back and in bed much sooner than fate had decided—and Ignis inclined his head in respectful acknowledgement as he followed the Marshal’s orders. When he stepped outside, he came face-to-face with one of the guards who usually patrolled Noct’s floor. The woman’s name escaped him, but it mattered little when she did nothing more than tersely jerk her head in the direction of the elevators. She even waited until he was walking ahead of her before she followed, as though he might make a run for it at any moment. If it weren’t for the unfortunate end to the evening, Ignis would have been insulted. As it was, he was stuck somewhere between distant annoyance and numb acceptance. He had brought this on himself; thus, he had no right to complain.

His emotions came plummeting back to earth the moment he entered his room to find Noct sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy from tears shed in Ignis’s absence. Not for the first time, Ignis truly wondered if Noct had somehow learned to warp without telling him, because he had hardly closed the door behind him before he found his arms full of the prince.

They stood huddled together for so long that he would have wondered whether Noct had fallen asleep upright if the circumstances were different. When it became apparent that Noct wouldn’t be the first to ask, Ignis softly inquired, “How did things go with your father?”

A pause, then, “He’s really mad.”

“I’m not surprised,” he sighed sadly. He didn’t have a chance to apologize before Noct’s wavering voice cut him off.

“They’re not gonna make you leave, are they?” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible where it was muffled against Ignis’s chest. Despite the severity of the trouble they’d both gotten in that night, Ignis smiled as he wrapped Noct in a tight embrace.

“Shockingly enough, no, they’re not.”

“Really?”

“Really. I won’t enjoy quite the same freedom for some time, but…I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a sniffle, and Noct burrowed closer like he expected Ignis to vanish into thin air at any moment if he dared loosen his hold even by a fraction. “I…was scared.”

That much was painfully obvious—both figuratively and literally given the increasingly perceptible strain on Ignis’s ribs. Noct was an emotional person, much as he tried to hide it, but frequently shied away from most physical contact. With the exception of his father, the prince generally kept to himself; the casual touches Ignis had grown up exchanging with him were long gone, initiated only in the most difficult of times when physical comfort was all either of them had to offer. Ignis was of the mind that the constant smothering by well-intentioned retainers was partially to blame, if not wholly, but he dared not mention it or try to reintegrate touch into the prince’s daily routine. If that one small facet of his life was the only thing he could control, then damn it, Ignis would ensure no one threatened his autonomy in that regard. Even so, he couldn’t help the sudden warmth that filled him at Noct’s open show of affection in spite of the situation that prompted it. Fear would certainly account for the sudden shift in his behavior.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Ignis whispered, tucking Noct’s head under his chin and trying not to think about the fact that his guard could enter at any moment to spirit his best friend away. “I’ll never leave you.”

“…Promise?” came Noct’s uncertain request with another squeeze.

Ignis didn’t hesitate to answer, “I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ignis. He just can't catch a break. So, notes:
> 
> 1\. I made up detection rings. As I consulted the "Brotherhood" anime for a description of the fence and trees overhanging it, I noticed that there were loops at the top of the fence. They definitely weren't barbed wire (it wouldn't fit with the style of the Citadel at ALL), so I thought that perhaps it would make sense that they could be a magical sort of "barbed wire" instead. If someone touches it, anyone with a connection to King Regis's magic would be alerted to their presence. That's probably not how it works in canon, but hey, creative liberty and all that.  
> 2\. Cor's mention of Ignis "absconding" with Noct "away from the Citadel" is directly taken from the "Parting Ways" novel. Ignis mentions that he was accused of doing so, and Noctis pointed out that he frequently took the fall for their excursions. Again, poor Iggy.  
> 3\. Can you imagine Gladio's reaction when he finds out what these two have been up to? Something tells me it would be somewhere between atomic and nuclear. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading! I'm very sad that this story is almost over--that means I'll have to go back to the sads for the next four stories! (Well, three of them anyway. One is just...disturbing. Maybe I'll get that one out of the way first.) For a bit of an update, here is what I've got coming up: there are three definitive pieces left in this particular series. I won't tell you what they are so as not to spoil the surprise, but I'm also considering a fourth one that deals with Ardyn's past and his fall from grace, if you will. That would take a good bit of time, however, and I'm going to need to do a lot more research into the Ultimania before I will feel confident enough to try my hand at it. This series is meant strictly for stories that could potentially be seen as canon, hence the "Deleted Scenes" title, so I don't want anything too obviously AU/speculation/canon divergent to be included. It's something I'll have to think on. Regardless, after the next three stories, I'm going to start posting the one I mentioned inspired by the Pitioss Theory on Reddit. I hope you guys will continue to join me! :)


	5. Rites of Passage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... Yeah, I added another chapter. Whoops!

To be an advisor to the future king meant understanding just what was expected of you. It entailed a high degree of stress and, therefore, an even greater sense of responsibility. Having thick skin and a gut of steel was recommended if not absolutely vital to surviving the position.

Still, Ignis was pretty sure this went _way_ beyond his paygrade.

“With all due respect, Majesty… I’m not entirely certain I would be the most suitable choice for this particular assignment.”

The king scoffed as they made their way slowly through the corridors toward his private quarters. The day’s meetings had been grueling, mostly pertaining to the increased number of border scuffles between Lucis and Niflheim, and Ignis would be lying if he said he wasn’t a touch disappointed that King Regis had pulled him aside for a private word when all he truly wanted was to deliver his reports to the prince’s apartment and call it a day. It was admittedly gratifying to know that he wasn’t in some sort of trouble, not that he harbored the belief that that was why the king would wish for this conference; it had been a year or so since disciplinary measures had been taken against him for once again absconding with the prince, and he’d done nothing untoward of note recently that would prompt such action again. Even if he had, none of his past indiscretions had resulted in an audience with the king when the Marshal could dole out punishment with a heavy enough hand. Now that he knew what the king’s actual motive was, however, perhaps it would have been better to be in trouble.

“You sell yourself short, Ignis,” tutted King Regis, his words interwoven with the clicking of their shoes and his cane on the marble floor. “I would wager that you are the most capable of my son’s retainers, possibly of all the attendants in service to the kingdom. A matter such as this should be simple for one such as yourself.”

Ignis tried not to squirm in the face of the king’s praise. It wouldn’t be very becoming of the _most capable_ retainer in the Citadel, after all. “I am grateful for your confidence. In spite of this, I was under the impression that such measures were best left to instructors trained specifically for the job.”

“Indeed, they are.”

“Then…may I inquire as to the purpose of my selection instead?”

Without warning, the king slowed to a halt, forcing Ignis to do the same. A few years ago, he would have been afraid that he’d overstepped the boundary between king and subject with his questions; he would have wondered if his curiosity was bordering too heavily on insubordination and balked at the idea of continuing his line of questioning. Things had changed as he grew more experienced and spent more time in King Regis’s presence during the ordinary course of his duties. The king tended to lead or was at least in attendance for many of the same meetings Ignis was responsible for participating in, and they had a standing appointment every week for Ignis to update him on how Noct was doing now that the prince was living on his own. It meant growing closer than they had been when Ignis was a child, and with that proximity came the knowledge that King Regis would never berate him for asking questions intended to ensure that he was able to serve Noctis to the best of his ability. Not once had he been denied answers or informed that he was out of line in asking his questions to begin with.

This time was no different. King Regis surveyed him closely the same way he had when Ignis was half his size, as though looking for some sign of weakness or reticence that might be staring back at him. To Ignis’s knowledge, he’d never found such things, but Ignis straightened his posture and forced his breathing into even submission every time nonetheless. Their silent exchange lasted only a few moments that never failed to seem like an eternity, then the king appeared to reach a decision and motioned for them to continue on their way.

“Ignis, do you know the most difficult trial for any king?”

Well, that was a rather unexpected answer to his question. Frowning in confusion, Ignis replied, “What is that, Majesty?”

“Raising a son you know will one day take your place.” The king glanced sideways at him, noticed Ignis’s lack of comprehension, and explained, “Every parent has a duty to their child, to see to it that they have all that they need to thrive. Being a king is no different in that regard. However, there are other factors I must take into consideration when making decisions regarding Noctis’s welfare. One misstep would not only impact my son but the entire kingdom as well. All things done for him are done for all of Lucis, his education chief among them.”

They reached the entrance to King Regis’s chambers as he spoke, and he raised a hand in gratitude as one of the guards opened the door ahead of them and closed it after they crossed the threshold. Ignis hadn’t been to the king’s quarters in years, not since Noct fell ill with a fever when he was ten and his father kept him sequestered in his own quarters until he was well again. (His malady had been nothing compared with the injury and subsequent case of Starscourge he had endured two years prior, but the king had been reluctant to take any chances, and Ignis could hardly blame him for wanting to keep Noct close.) The sitting room he found himself in was no different now that he was older, although everything appeared reasonably smaller given how much he had grown in the intervening years. It was a comfortable space befitting a king, although modest enough to indicate just what _type_ of monarch King Regis was. The latter led him to a well-worn black leather sofa set against the far wall adjacent to the window, gesturing for Ignis to take a seat at his side before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was firm and commanding the way any ruler’s should be.

“Noctis has attended the best public schools. He has worked with the finest instructors, all acclaimed in their particular fields of expertise. So, in answer to your question,” King Regis inclined his head pointedly, “I would appoint to this task only one whom I am confident can perform it with the utmost professionalism and competence. Given the nature of the assignment, it must also be someone who knows Noctis well and can adapt more readily to his needs. An _instructor_ would hardly be suitable when one such individual sits beside me.”

Well. If _that_ didn’t make Ignis quite satisfied with himself and his position at the Citadel, nothing would. With a small, grateful smile, Ignis inclined his head in return and murmured, “Thank you, Majesty.”

The king waved off his gratitude as though he’d said nothing deserving of thanks and continued, “I trust you with my son’s life, Ignis. If I didn’t, you would never have managed quite so many—what is it you call them? _Excursions_?—over the years.”

One blink. Two. _Is he saying…what I think he’s saying…?_

The sly smirk that tipped up the corner of the king’s mouth all but confirmed it long before he admitted, “I must say, you make quite the pair, gallivanting off in the middle of the night as if no one would know. Even I didn’t realize at first, and there are few things that happen within the boundaries of Insomnia that I do not notice.”

“Y-you mean…” Ignis shook his head incredulously. “You mean, you _knew_ that we were leaving the Citadel?”

“Not at first and undoubtedly not every time, but far more frequently than you were ever aware of.”

All of a sudden, Ignis didn’t feel very clever and competent at all. In fact, it took all his self-control not to refuse the king’s assignment in light of this news purely on principle.

As though sensing his thoughts, King Regis reassured him, “Your plots were sound enough, but your execution left something to be desired. Of course, when you stand against a good number of Glaives trained in the art of surveillance and subterfuge…well. I’m sure you understand that two children stood little chance of maintaining such secrecy for long, although you managed far beyond what I would have expected.”

Ignis nodded in acceptance as he processed this latest revelation, but there was one thing the king’s explanation didn’t quite illuminate for him. “You knew we were leaving the Citadel, and you _let_ us?”

 “On certain occasions, yes.”

“But… _why_?”

King Regis paused, thinking deeply about how he was going to phrase his next words, and Ignis waited in silence as he struggled to wrap his mind around the idea that their outings hadn’t been so clandestine as he’d once thought. After what felt like an age, the king finally sighed and explained, “Because I realized, as I assume you did, that my wayward son needed a reprieve from what was little more than a prison to him.”

Ignis opened his mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. There was no lie in the king’s assertion, after all: Noct _had_ felt that way, and Ignis _did_ know it. What with the king’s stern stance on his son’s behavior, however, Ignis had to admit that he never would have guessed that the king realized it as well.

Without giving him an opportunity to come up with a reasonable response, King Regis mused, “I have been more distant from my son in recent years than I would like, but I am aware of his difficulty. Why else would I agree to his relocation outside the Citadel? I do not relish the idea of my son wandering far from these walls, where he will not enjoy the same level of security I can ensure within them.”

“He is well protected, Majesty,” argued Ignis, more to reassure him than anything else. “We’ve stationed the best of the Crownsguard around his apartment building, and he has constant su—“

“I know you’ve done the best you can with what you have to work with, Ignis,” interjected the king with a weary smile, looking much older than he should for a man his age. Time and the Crystal had not been kind to him, and the stress of caring for his son from afar was obviously not helping. “But it is not the same as having him here, where the magic of the Crystal is strongest. It is not the same as having him where I can watch over him, as any parent would wish for their child.”

There was no arguing with that, so Ignis didn’t even try. Instead he sat quietly as King Regis composed himself enough to meet his eyes again after they had turned away to stare at his desk across the room like every answer in the universe was stowed in a drawer somewhere. After a while, the king took a deep breath and turned back to him, the troubled look sublimating into one of resignation.

“Despite my better judgment, I have allowed my son to leave the Citadel just as I allowed you both to wander as children. Do not misunderstand—your actions were irresponsible, and the punishments you both received were deserved.”

Wincing slightly at the sudden and unexpected rebuke, Ignis bowed his head and murmured, “Yes, Majesty,” just before a steady hand came to rest firmly on his shoulder.

“ _But_ …on the occasions when I knew my son required the taste of freedom, however fleeting, your path was not barred. So long as you were by his side, I allowed it to continue in the hopes that maturity would bring an end to it.”

Ignis could relate to that. How many times over the years had he wondered whether the decreasing frequency of Noct’s propositions for a night outside the Citadel was a result of approaching adulthood or simply absence of need? In an almost unfortunate turn of events, he had moved out of the Citadel before Ignis could find out. To know now that the king had been just as invested in the outcome of their ventures… It boggled the mind.

It _also_ boggled the mind that King Regis would have any faith, confidence, or trust in him _at all_ after his involvement in such plotting.

Clearing his throat in the silence that had fallen between them, Ignis somehow found the courage to raise his eyes to meet the king’s gaze as he admitted, “If I may say so, Your Majesty, I do not know what I have done to deserve the trust you seem to have in me. Not knowing that…” he trailed off, not sure how he wanted to finish that statement. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

“You were doing what you felt was best for Noctis,” the king countered immediately, his smile turning more genuine and even a bit teasing. “Your heart was in the right place, even if your senses certainly slipped in some regards. Still, in spite of all that, you have never failed to keep my son safe. That carries more weight in my mind, which brings us back to my original offer.”

 _Right. That._ How exactly could he refuse when the king’s trust in him had proven to be so unshakeable?

“I would be honored to accept, Your Majesty.”

A bright smile mirroring that of his son erupted on the king’s face, and he gave Ignis’s shoulder a quick squeeze before removing his hand to point towards his desk. “Excellent. Otherwise I would be far more concerned with _that_.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Ignis waited until King Regis nodded in confirmation to stand and make his way over to the desk. Where Noct was sloppy at the best of times, his father was unfailingly neat: his papers were sorted evenly into various folders and files, and his requisite materials for general purposes were lined up by size on the left side. It was truly a chamberlain’s dream. Everything was in its proper place—everything except what the king obviously wanted him to find.

_Oh, this is… Oh, dear._

Ignis whirled around to gape at the king, the papers—the _blueprints_ —held loosely in his hands. There were few moments, he realized distantly, when he could remember the king looking quite so _pleased_ with himself.

“Is this…?”

King Regis nodded once. “It is.”

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times. In any other situation, Ignis would have felt embarrassed for being so inarticulate in the company of the king, but he couldn’t quite find it in him as his eyes darted back down to scrutinize the graceful lines of the second-most beautiful car he’d ever seen in his life. (The first, of course, was none other than the king’s own Regalia.)

The king allowed him a few moments to flip through the pages of technical specifications and amenities, at which Ignis finally found his voice again when he got a closer look at just what was under the hood of that masterpiece among vehicles.

“I…see why you would be concerned.”

Much to Ignis’s surprise, the king laughed heartily before replying, “It will be a powerful machine. I would not give it to Noctis until I am sure he can handle it responsibly.”

Ignis didn’t bother reminding him that _handling_ the car and handling it _responsibly_ were two very different considerations, especially when it came to Noct. If anything, he was undoubtedly already aware of it. Still, a sudden thought occurred to Ignis and he blurted out the question before he had a chance to properly temper his incredulity: “Am I teaching the prince to drive in _this_!?”

“ _No_!” exclaimed King Regis, his eyes nearly popping out of his head at the very idea.

 _Oh, thank heavens…_ “That is…a relief, Majesty.”

Smirking, the king hauled himself onto his feet with some difficulty and hobbled over to join him in admiring the plans. “I’d prefer you use the Regalia to teach Noctis to drive, unless you can think of a more suitable arrangement.”

Ignis raised his eyebrows. “You would be agreeable to that?”

“I wouldn’t offer otherwise. The Regalia is… _sturdy_. It will keep both of you safe during his lessons.”

“That wasn’t _quite_ my concern, Your Majesty.”

“By _sturdy_ , I also meant that it will be very difficult for him to damage it,” the king added shrewdly. “You needn’t worry.”

 _I wouldn’t go so far as_ that _,_ Ignis decided not to tell him. Although they had shared a person moment—more than one, actually—there was still a line that shouldn’t be crossed, and like most things, it centered around Noct. The prince was less responsible than Ignis would have hoped by this age, generally shirking his responsibilities to engage in activities that _normal_ teenagers had the luxury of enjoying, and Ignis had his doubts that Noct would take learning to drive any more seriously than the other obligations in his life. At the same time, Noct was no fool; he had grown into a skilled warrior in the last four years since he began training with Gladio, and his reflexes were unquestionable both in practical application and the video games he’d never really grown out of. If anyone could learn to drive without much difficulty (or destroying half the Crown City in the process), it was him.

Now, Ignis simply had to make sure he took the endeavor seriously so that he would be deserving of the car on the paper…

“How soon do you intend to present the prince with this?” he inquired, hoping to gauge some sort of timeline for their lessons and just how hard he would need to push Noct to reach their desired goal. King Regis shook his head, unconcerned.

“Not until he comes of age,” he replied with a fond smile at the plans in Ignis’s hands. “For his twentieth birthday, should he be ready by then.”

It was a near thing, but Ignis was successful in his attempt not to scoff. “Four years? I’m sure we can manage in that time.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. Besides, this is but a prototype. It will likely take that long before the finished product is worthy of the future king. The Royal Art Society and Audi have been sworn to secrecy regarding its development. I trust I can expect the same discretion from you.”

“Of course, Majesty,” promised Ignis. His eyes swept over the blueprints one last time as he returned the documents to their place on the king’s desk, pausing on the words at the top. “The Star of Lucis…”

Humming, the king returned to his place on the couch and replied, “Just like my son. A fitting name.”

Ignis’s mind turned to Noct, imagining the all too infrequent smiles that brightened his eyes when they were real and the way he hid his fragile kindness beneath a veneer of languorous indifference. “It is, indeed.”

Sensing the discussion had come to a close, Ignis bowed respectfully and made his way to the door. Before he stepped out into the corridor, however, a niggling thought in the back of his mind made him stop and turn back.

“Majesty… If it’s all right, there _is_ one more question I’d like to ask you.”

King Regis nodded, waiting.

Ignis couldn’t help but smirk as he inquired, “If you knew we were leaving the Citadel and didn’t try to stop us, why did you punish Noct every time you… _found out_?”

Thankfully, the king didn’t take offense to the question. In fact, he chortled as though sharing a private joke before explaining, “I couldn’t have him thinking I approved of his escapades. Wayward though my son may be, he needed to learn that there are consequences for our actions.” The smile slipped somewhat, his expression turning unspeakably sad in a way Ignis hadn’t seen since the king was a much younger man sitting at his child’s deathbed. When King Regis said nothing more, Ignis took that as dismissal and offered one final bow before he moved to slip outside.

It wasn’t until he was closing the door behind him that the king’s voice, nearly inaudible, murmured, “There are always consequences.”

 

***

 

“So…let me get this straight. The king’s got all the money and resources in the world, and he’s having _you_ teach the princess how to drive?”

Huffing in amusement, Ignis replaced his practice lance in its spot on the rack and grabbed his towel. It had certainly been a long day, but after his conversation with King Regis, he hadn’t been able to go home the way he’d originally planned. There was just too much on his mind—questions, concerns, logistics—and he needed to let out some steam as a result. Working on his battle form generally fit the bill when he required an opportunity to step outside of his own head.

He’d learned the basics of combat long ago, but working out voluntarily hadn’t been his habit until about two years previously when he realized that if he was going to be making so many plans for Noct, it would be best if he were in shape to actually carry those plans to fruition. (At the time, the idea of potential muggings on their excursions hadn’t been the least of his concerns, either.) His efforts certainly hadn’t come to naught. In the time he’d been frequenting the Citadel’s training chambers, he’d burned off most of the fat he’d retained from childhood and put on pounds of muscle in its place. He would never look like Gladio—thank heavens—but he was fit, and that was the most important thing. If the added benefit of some mindless sparring was on the table when his mind needed the reprieve, he certainly wouldn’t complain.

Had he known Gladio was going to be training late, however, he would have pondered a different course of action.

“Ignoring the blatant disrespect for our future monarch,” sighed Ignis as he dabbed the sweat from his face, “yes, it would appear so.”

Gladio snorted, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded. “Now _that’s_ something I’d pay to see.”

“ _My_ lessons or _his_ performance?”

“Both.”

“Ah. My thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Aw, come on, Iggy. You know this isn’t gonna end well.”

Ignis quirked an eyebrow and demanded, “And how, pray tell, can you be certain of that?”

“We’re talkin’ about a kid who can barely _warp_ three feet—and that’s in his _blood_. Imagine what he’ll be like behind the wheel,” joked Gladio with a smug smirk. Despite the levity of his statement, Ignis frowned at the insinuation.

“You know that’s different,” he observed mildly, turning his back and pulling off his damp tank top. As he rummaged through his bag for a clean shirt, he murmured, “Noct has always been gifted in utilizing technology. His difficulty with blade-warping, on the other hand, is outside of his control.”

“Maybe if he was a little more focused—“

“He isn’t the _king_ , Gladio,” interrupted Ignis with a cool glare over his shoulder. At least Gladio had the sense to look marginally abashed.

“I get that, but what’s it got to do with his warping?”

Sighing, Ignis reminded himself that Gladio didn’t have the benefit of studying the royal family to the extent that he had and wearily explained, “Noct’s magic comes from the Crystal, which includes his ability to warp. If history is any indication, it can take years for the next in line for the throne to reach complete synchronization with it, and that’s not including the fact that Noct has not yet inherited the Ring of the Lucii to ease his access to the Crystal’s power. Many of the former kings were much older than he is now when they gained full utilization of their abilities.”

Ignis hesitated to mention the other reason why he thought Noct’s abilities might be less than fully formed by this point in his life, knowing it to be mere speculation on his part and nothing more. There was no denying that his hunches generally tended to contain a kernel of truth more often than not, however, and he was certain his suppositions had at least an ounce of merit to them this time. After all, Starscourge was not something to be taken lightly; even when healed by the Oracle, many of those who had suffered with the affliction over the years reported lasting effects that only time could lessen. Such a disease was a thing of dark origins and stood in complete defiance of the Crystal’s power. As such, it stood to reason that the havoc it wreaked on the prince’s body when he was young had some impact on how easily he was able to draw from the Crystal’s power while he was still unpracticed. Ignis had no doubt that Noct would overcome that obstacle in his journey to ascend the throne, though, if it was truly a barrier to his success at all.

Deciding against informing Gladio of his suspicions, Ignis pointedly added, “He will undoubtedly do the same, but it will take time and _patience_.”

Gladio threw his hands up, palms out in pacifying defeat. “All right, all right, I get it. Jeez, you’d think _you_ were his Shield instead of me some days.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis denied dismissively, slipping on his shirt and straightening his hair. “That would leave _you_ as his advisor. Now _that_ would end badly.”

“Why, you—“

Ignis ducked under Gladio’s outstretched arms when the latter lunged for him, dancing aside to pluck up his bag as he sprinted for the door. There was a bark of laughter behind him, but the object of his teasing didn’t bother following.

“Just make sure you record those driving lessons!” called Gladio, his voice echoing off the walls out in the corridor. “I could use a good laugh!”

 _How very true_ , Ignis mused with a snort of laughter. The older they got, the more he noticed that the humor Gladio had harbored as a child was wearing thin in light of his responsibilities. It was only to be expected, he supposed: they both bore a heavy burden in service to the future king, and there was many a day where there simply wasn’t anything to laugh at. Still, while both of them tended to channel their efforts into their work, it meant something different for each. Ignis grew more calculating by the day, seeing things in the machinations of the Lucian government he never spotted before; Gladio, however, simply brought the proverbial hammer down all the harder on Noct as a result. In his defense, it was a Shield’s highest priority to ensure that his charge could defend himself, whereas an advisor’s was that the prince would begin to think like a king. If Noct failed the former, it was no surprise that he would face Gladio’s taunting and, in some cases, outright disdain.

Not that Ignis had much room to talk about such things, if he was being honest. Even now, as he made his way out of the Citadel to retrieve his car, the sharp chill of guilt clawed at his stomach like a disease for his behavior a year earlier. There were few occasions he could remember truly losing his patience with Noct, including all the times they had gotten in trouble for sneaking out of the Citadel in the middle of the night when they were younger. Last year, though… Well, it was obvious he had been channeling too much of his time into his position and not enough of it into his friendship. How else could he explain his outburst at Noct’s indifference to his future as king of Lucis when the prince was clearly upset at the idea of his father’s health declining? What a fool he’d been to believe that Noct finding out about King Regis’s new disability and increasing weakness would have no impact on his opinion of taking the throne.

Instead, Ignis had berated him for not reading a damned report. He’d gotten angry with him for not paying attention. He’d told him that his father was growing weaker and less capable of summoning weapons by the day as if reciting the weather forecast. He’d reminded him that his father was going to die, sooner rather than later, in as cold and careless a fashion as he could manage before realizing the weight of his words.

_“You’re the successor to the throne and someday—“_

_“My dad’s going to die?”_

Ignis should have stopped there. For an instant, he’d tried. But in the face of Noct’s rage—his _fear_ , Ignis now knew—he’d callously walked out and left him to weather the darkness the future held in store for him alone. He’d told Gladio he wondered if Noct understood his position at all even though it was _Ignis_ who didn’t get it. Oh, how the tables had turned when _Gladio_ was the one who had to remind _him_ that Noct knew better than he realized. All the apologies and sweets in the world hadn’t been enough to assuage the guilt Ignis felt for his behavior, for forgetting that he was Noct’s friend just as much as he was the prince’s advisor.

It was something he reminded himself of constantly these days, and he did so again when he was settled in the driver’s seat with the engine humming quietly over the oppressive silence. Whatever happened with these driving lessons, however well or poorly Noct might do, Ignis would be supportive and patient. If he couldn’t do that, then he would immediately go to the king and request someone else be offered the assignment. It was something he had never done before—he’d never _had_ to do it—but he wouldn’t risk his relationship with Noct again, especially not over something as trivial as driving.

“Trivial,” Ignis chuckled, putting the car in gear and carefully pulling out onto the street. Driving was a rite of passage, so despite the reality that the prince didn’t really _need_ to learn when Ignis chauffeured him anywhere that wasn’t within walking distance, it would undoubtedly be an important milestone for Noct even if Ignis didn’t particularly mind either way.

 _It would also be an invaluable self-defense tactic_. _If he finds himself in a position where he needs to drive and can’t…_

He didn’t want to think of the outcome and focused instead on making sure he made it to his apartment instead of letting the car wander the way he was his mind. It was convenient that he lived in the same building as Noct, albeit in much smaller and less extravagant accommodations, but it was late enough that Ignis decided a visit would be unwarranted and pulled out his phone instead. Ignis didn’t need to look at the screen; he had the combination of motions necessary to call Noct memorized, and a few seconds later, the familiar ringing emitted from the car’s speakers until the prince answered.

_“Hey, Specs. What’s up?”_

“I thought it might interest you to know that I have been tasked with teaching you to drive,” Ignis replied, cutting right to the chase. They’d known each other too long to beat around the bush with formalities, especially when Ignis received no less than fifty text messages a day from Noct in various states of complaint (and hunger).

There was a pause, then an excited, _“Seriously?”_

“Quite.”

 _“Sounds great,”_ Noct intoned, although Ignis could sense his well-contained enthusiasm and smirked. _“When do we start?”_

“I thought we might begin tomorrow, if you’d like. There are a few places around the city that will be less populated on a Saturday morning, so we should have plenty of room to maneuver.”

It was rather obvious that Noct would have chosen a time when he wouldn’t prefer to be in bed (as if one existed) when he hesitantly agreed, _“Yeah, all right. We can do that.”_

“Very well. Then I will see you bright and early.”

_“Yeah… Bright and early.”_

“Oh, and Noct?”

_“Yeah?”_

Ignis sighed, rolling his eyes at his own futile request. “ _Don’t_ make me come wake you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note time!
> 
> 1\. This was SUPPOSED to be the last chapter, as you know. However, the scene with Ignis and Regis took on a life of its own, and then Gladio didn't want to be ignored... So yeah, one more chapter before we hit the sads again!
> 
> 2\. I know that absolutely nothing in the media surrounding FFXV says that Regis was aware they were sneaking out. However, this is a king with magical control of his kingdom and a literal fleet of guards and Glaives whose job it is to make sure no one comes and goes unbidden. It was highly suspect to me that he would therefore be totally unaware of their escapades, even though Noct and Ignis thought he was. Besides, it's another bit of evidence to add to why Regis calls Noct "wayward" in the game. 
> 
> 3\. The two italicized lines of dialogue about Noct's father dying are quoted from "Brotherhood," specifically the English subtitles. The surrounding exposition refers to the events in that episode, as well. 
> 
> 4\. I'll be honest--the product placement in FFXV didn't bother me quite as much as it did others. It sort of made the world more realistic, in a sense, even if I know it was for more than just that to Square. I think of the boys when I see an Audi pass me on the road and want to curl up and die when I walk by the camping aisle full of Coleman equipment. (Don't get me started on my emotions when I see the same lantern they used in my storage closet.) And yeah, I giggle when I spot some Cup Noodles at the store. Therefore, given the nature of this final part, I didn't mind mentioning Audi. After all, it's canon that they worked with the Royal Art Society to create the Star of Lucis R8 for Noct's 20th birthday (which is his coming of age, not 18). All of the details about the car and what Regis mentions about its construction are taken from the Audi website for the Star of Lucis, which is fascinating if you haven't seen it. (It is written entirely as though Lucis and the royal family exist, and I have to give Audi an A+++ for continuity and world-building when they mention motifs from Tenebrae and the Oracle's family.) 
> 
> 5\. The mention of Starscourge as a reason why Noct had issues learning to warp is something Ignis mentions in "Parting Ways." He says to Noct that warping may have come easier to him had he not sustained his injury, but as he has no corroborating evidence besides his own beliefs and even says that he "imagines" that to be the case, he's not the type to go telling Gladio about it without being entirely sure.


	6. White-Knuckled

As expected, Noctis wasn’t awake when Ignis rang his doorbell promptly at nine. Honestly, he was utterly unsurprised despite the fraction of hope he’d harbored that learning to drive might rouse Noct earlier than usual.

It was difficult not to feel a twinge of irritation at the prince’s apparent lack of motivation when presented with an opportunity he had jumped at the night before. Ignis had even allowed him some extra time to sleep; he’d originally planned to arrive sooner and had been awake for a few hours already. Preparing to greet the day early was an important habit to practice, one that he had been taught almost as soon as he’d arrived at the Citadel. When he was a child, he had never been one for sleeping in anyway, but knowing that his responsibilities would include so many things and that there were only a limited number of hours in a day lent a sense of urgency to the time he _did_ have. As such, it was no hardship to gain a few precious moments wherever he could, and mornings were the most appropriate for organizing what was necessary to make it through the day.

The first order of business today had been retrieving the Regalia from the Citadel. With King Regis’s approval and even encouragement to teach Noct the finer points of vehicular operation on his own car came the privilege of getting to drive it himself, a rare treat. It wasn’t that Ignis didn’t like his personal car—it was functional and comfortable in equal measures, and the less vocal, slightly vain part of his mind had insisted on one that was at least moderately appealing to the eye. Still, driving the _Regalia_ was akin to sailing through a dream. Made specifically for the king, the automobile was the finest Ignis had ever seen with suspension as smooth as its lines and technical systems that made Insomnia itself seem primitive. Ignis, who rather enjoyed driving as a method of relaxation, had only been offered the opportunity to utilize the king’s prized vehicle on a handful of occasions, usually when he had to chauffeur Noct to state events. Therefore, as he left his car in the Citadel’s underground parking garage and accepted the Regalia’s keys from a waiting Kingsglaive operative, he was struck once again by the fortuitous trust the king had in him and the gut-wrenching possibility that Noctis would wreck the car within the next few hours.

 _The king’s trusty steed can handle a sixteen-year-old_ , Ignis had chided sternly, settling into the driver’s seat and taking a moment to familiarize himself with the supple leather of the steering wheel.

Admittedly, his confidence wasn’t _entirely_ unwavering, so he had taken a few superfluous turns on the way back to the apartment complex and stopped to pick up breakfast. Cooking was yet another activity that calmed his nerves, but there hadn’t been enough time to prepare a meal for Noct, nor would it have been appreciated so early in the morning on a Saturday. Egg and sausage sandwiches from one of Noct’s favorite diners would have to suffice today—and if he failed to mention to a half-asleep prince that there were tomatoes on them, it was entirely the latter’s own fault.

The hearty smell of their breakfast wafted up from the paper bag Ignis was carrying, and he shifted it into the crook of his elbow to pull out his keys. Knocking when Noct was at home was nothing more than a formality: the first condition of his living outside the Citadel was that every member of the Crownsguard assigned to the building would have access to his apartment at all times. They had never made use of it since there had been no need to date, but Ignis frequently required entry when Noct wasn’t home to deliver reports and prepare meals in the prince’s absence. When he _was_ home, however, Ignis tried to be as courteous as possible and not simply come barging in whenever he liked to maintain the illusion of privacy.

All he could do was hope that Noct was dressed as he unlocked the door and stepped inside the apartment.

The corridor was empty when he closed the door behind him, and his tentative calls went unanswered. Sighing, Ignis moved into the open kitchen and living room to find that they, too, were devoid of life. He took a moment to unpack the bag and line the sandwiches up neatly on the counter (he’d learned long ago that having food ready was the best way to approach an unwillingly awake Noct) before turning back down the hall and pausing outside the prince’s closed bedroom door.

One knock. Two.

Nothing.

_Oh, honestly._

Ignis rolled his eyes and opened the door, leaning against the frame with an exasperated huff when he saw the prince still burrowed beneath his heavy comforter. A glance at Noct’s phone where it lay abandoned on the bedside table indicated that he had at least set an alarm…before proceeding to hit _snooze_ six times.

Well, if _that_ was the way he wanted to start the day, Ignis supposed it was not uncalled for to respond in kind. Plucking his own phone from his pocket, Ignis set a timer for five seconds with the loudest possible alert—a blaring siren—and stuck it right next to Noct’s ear.

It was perhaps a bit _too_ entertaining to see him jump, flail, and hit the floor with a heavy _thump_. No, _callous_ was probably the more appropriate term.

_Nevertheless…_

“Gladio would be disappointed to discover your complete lack of awareness, Noct,” Ignis mildly informed him, extending his hand to help the bleary-eyed prince off the floor.

Groaning, Noct stubbornly refused the offer and scrambled to his feet on his own. “The door was locked. Not like anyone else would get this far past the guards.”

“A skilled assassin might be capable of anything.” Ignis waited until Noct’s skeptical eyes turned to him before he continued, “You wouldn’t be the first royal tragically felled in the night. Do _try_ to be more aware of your surroundings.”

“Not sure how I can do that if I’m _sleeping_ , Specs.”

“If you like, there are a number of methods that can reduce the lik—“

“Aren’t you here to teach me how to drive?” grumbled Noct, interrupting before Ignis could instruct him further. The latter raised an eyebrow in irritation at Noct’s misplaced priorities but let the subject drop. They could manage his heavy sleeping and the dangers it posed at a later time.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t push just a _little_.

“Well, I _was_ ,” he began as Noct pulled off his shirt and rummaged through the piles of clothing decorating his floor for another. “However, if Your Highness is too fatigued…”

“You’re hysterical.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re not welcome.”

Ignis smirked but sobered instantly when Noct turned around and gave him a full view of the scar running across the length of his back. It had healed over time, leaving a raised, reddish mark where once had been an oozing gash. Even now, the sight never failed to take him back eight years to when he was just a scared child watching his best friend bleed out onto the sheets of his bed. Time had dulled the edge of the panic he’d experienced then, but it only took a fraction of a second for him to be reminded of what might have been and how fortunate they all were that Noct was with them now. Many years had passed since Noct was finally able to stomach letting anyone else see what had been left behind by his encounter with the Marilith, although none but Ignis and Gladio were allowed anywhere near him when it was on full display to this day. After training, he would wait until the locker rooms at the Citadel were vacated before changing back into his street clothes, and Ignis or Gladio—whoever was present—would take turns making sure no one wandered in uninvited. It wasn’t just the prince’s body that needed protecting, after all.

With a pang of sadness, Ignis decided to take pity on Noct and strode over to the basket of clean laundry he’d dropped off a few days earlier. Most of the previously folded clothing was strewn about the floor around the basket, but there was a black short-sleeved shirt and pair of matching capris that were at least clean if not unwrinkled.

Noct murmured his thanks and donned the shirt immediately, shutting himself in his bathroom to finish changing while Ignis made his way back out into the kitchen to wait. Despite the prince’s knack for oversleeping, it took him little time to get ready, and he joined Ignis not long after with a nod at the waiting sandwiches.

“Slacking off today, huh?” he joked, tearing into his breakfast with gusto. Ignis was a bit more refined as he unwrapped his own and stared down at it dispassionately.

“Noct, the day I arrive to find that _you_ have made breakfast for yourself is the day you may indeed berate me for laziness in meal preparation.”

“Hey, on Wednesday—“

“You had cereal.”

Swallowing his overlarge bite, Noct observed, “Some people would call that cooking.”

“And some would call it knowing how to _pour_ ,” sighed Ignis with a frown at the cardboard-like taste of his breakfast. How _anyone_ could fail to assemble a _sandwich_ , of all things, was utterly lost on him.

“Still a valuable skill,” Noct argued without heat, unaware of Ignis’s reservations regarding his preferred restaurant. That was apparently not the _only_ thing he was unaware of, and he paused with his sandwich halfway to his mouth and a suspicious glare at Ignis. “There’re tomatoes on this.”

With an innocent shrug, Ignis found his next bite to be far more palatable in the face of the prince’s disdain. “As you pointed out earlier, Noct, I am here to impart to you effective driving skills. Awareness of your surroundings will have to come later.”

To paraphrase Gladio, he had that tomato slice to the face coming.

 

***

 

“Ignis, I already _know_ this stuff.”

“Is that so?” inquired Ignis, eyebrows raised. “In that case, what is _neutral_ for?”

A pause. A sigh. “I don’t know.”

“May I continue, then?”

Noct waved a hand in acquiescence and sank lower in his seat, glaring at the gearshift as though it had personally affronted him by not offering a comprehensive description of each setting beside the lever. With a patient smirk, Ignis pointed to the _P_.

“You should put the car in _park_ when idling and before removing the key from the ignition. _Always_ keep your foot on the brake before putting the car in drive. Most vehicles will not allow you to do so otherwise, but it is better to be safe than sorry.” He moved his finger down to the _R_. “ _Reverse_ and _drive_ should be relatively self-explanatory—they control the direction you wish to move.”

Rolling his eyes, Noct refrained from complaining and instead jabbed his finger accusingly at the _N_. “What about _neutral_?”

“That particular setting is one I doubt you will ever find use for.”

“Then what’s the point of knowing it!?”

Ignis rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. When he’d agreed to teach Noct how to drive, he had thought it would be simple: the prince was adept at utilizing technology, so it should have been a simple matter of explaining the technical aspects and then getting on the road. There was one thing Ignis hadn’t accounted for, however—that Noct, despite his intelligence, had _never_ been one for formal lessons. Ignis suddenly felt a bit of sympathy for all the instructors who had been responsible for motivating the prince over the years.

“The _point_ ,” Ignis replied as evenly as possible, “is that you must know a car intimately before you can expect to drive it. No matter how prepared you are, it is impossible to account for every potential contingency that may arise when sharing the road with multitudes of other drivers. Understanding your vehicle may be the difference between life and death.”

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but he wasn’t lying. As enjoyable and freeing as driving could be, there was a sizable danger in it, especially in the middle of a crowded city such as Insomnia. If circumstances had been different, Ignis would have taken Noct outside the city to hone his skills on the less populated roads of Leide and Duscae rather than an empty parking lot beside an already busy intersection. Leaving the safety of the Crown City was not an option, however, so they would have to make do with what was available within the confines of the Wall. Ignis just wanted to make sure Noct was taking this seriously before they went any further.

Fortunately, the prince had a head on his shoulders, loath as he could be sometimes to use it. Noct nodded in understanding and, despite his obvious impatience to get started, tempered his attitude. “I get it. So… _neutral_?”

“Yes, _neutral_.” Ignis offered Noct a quick smile to soften some of the tension that had begun to stretch between them and explained, “The easiest way to remember what _neutral_ does is to say it is somewhere between _park_ and _drive_ both on the gearshift and in theory. While you cannot propel the car forward with the engine, it won’t remain still either. This gear is mostly used if a car breaks down and you need to push or tow it.”

“That sucks.”

Smirking, Ignis agreed, “Quite. It is a beneficial setting, but as I said, I expect you will have little use for it. As a member of the royal family, any car you drive will be maintained by His Majesty’s most capable mechanics and kept in pristine condition. It is _highly_ unlikely that you will ever operate a malfunctioning vehicle or need to push a car anywhere.”

An image of the Star of Lucis appeared in his mind’s eye, and Ignis nearly snorted. Yes, it was very improbable indeed.

The rest of their preparations were fairly straightforward: turn signals, mirrors, headlights, ignition settings. Ignis had to admit that he was rather proud of how attentive Noct remained through it all, albeit grudgingly so, and he resolved to try his hand at the pastries he hadn’t quite perfected as a reward that evening. It wasn’t _bribing_ , per se, but incentive was always appreciated with regards to tasks of some difficulty.

Not that such an adjective could apparently be applied to the prince’s driving ability. Noct, to Ignis’s delight, was as natural behind the wheel as expected. When Ignis finally allowed him to start the Regalia and maneuver it around the parking lot to become better acquainted with the nuances of its movements, he did so with the utmost ease. He had an innate sense of just how far he needed to turn the wheel to get the vehicle to do as he desired, and he adjusted to the sensitivity of both pedals almost as quickly. Within minutes, they were buzzing through the vacant aisles, and apart from the occasional reminder to use his turn signals, Ignis felt that his presence was nigh unnecessary given the prince’s natural aptitude for operating the Regalia.

“Very good, Noct,” he praised confidently as they slid to a fluid stop. “Impressive.”

Ignis brought himself up short to ensure that he didn’t inflate the prince’s ego overmuch. While he indeed found Noct’s progress thus far to be quite promising, it would be counterproductive to give him the impression that he had nothing else to learn. Noct had committed a number of minor transgressions that needed addressing, as was to be expected with any new driver, and his handling of the vehicle was by no means expert. Time and practice were the only solutions to gauging the appropriate speed at which to round a corner and leaving enough room when braking, of course. Noct would doubtless pick up such skills in record time, as he was wont to do with most technology, but it was important to remind him that this venture was very much a work in progress.

 _At least_ , he mused with a wry grin, _I’ll be able to tell Gladio that he was mistaken in Noct’s abilities. That should be a rather enjoyable conversation._

Perhaps it was his certainty that he would soon prove the prince’s sworn Shield wrong about his charge’s dedication that was his downfall. It certainly wasn’t lack of attention to the prince’s shortcomings that had Ignis offering Noct the opportunity to drive them back to their apartment building.

“Seriously?” Noct’s eyes lit up immediately, and one of those rare, genuine smiles had his cheeks flushing in excitement.

Nodding proudly, Ignis replied, “The roads will not be congested for some time yet, and you’ve proven yourself familiar enough with the Regalia to be capable. It really isn’t all that far. _However_ ,” he added, shifting to a stern approach befitting an advisor to the future king, “you are to follow my instructions _exactly_ as I provide them to you.”

“Oh, come _on_.”

“I mean it, Noct. This is not one of your video games, nor are you experienced behind the wheel. If I am to be your instructor and you are _driven_ enough to succeed, you will do as I tell you.”

Noct opened his mouth, hopefully to agree with no further skepticism, when his mind visibly caught up with what Ignis had said and the former quirked an incredulous eyebrow at him. “That was pretty bad even for _you_ , Specs.”

“I will endeavor to improve my use of road-based puns for the duration of our lessons,” huffed Ignis good-naturedly. Leave it to Noct to derail the conversation as though Ignis might forget what they’d just been discussing. “In the meantime, do I have your word?”

It was obvious that Noct desperately wanted to roll his eyes as he grudgingly answered in the affirmative, but he managed to refrain if only because he knew that Ignis could and would make good on his threat to retake control of the car in the event that the prince didn’t take their lesson seriously. Ignis held his gaze a moment longer regardless, hoping that he was able to silently impart just how strictly he expected Noct to adhere to his orders, before gesturing towards the ignition and instructing him to restart the car.

At first, everything went swimmingly. Noct gracefully pulled out of the parking lot into a light stream of traffic, remembering at the last moment to signal his turn without Ignis’s prompting. No red lights were run, no vehicles tailgated or cut off, and he checked his mirrors frequently to ensure he would be aware if either were done to him. In all, Ignis felt confident enough to relax his grip on the leather-wrapped door handle a fraction.

Which, of course, was when everything went horribly wrong.

“Uh…wait a sec…” Ignis glanced over to see Noct’s face screwed up in frustration as he realized what the former already had. “I’m in the wrong lane."

Nodding, Ignis confirmed, “You are. After this next light, you should be able to find an opening so we can double back one block over.”

“Can’t I just switch lanes?”

“It would be unwise so close to the signa—“

“There’s plenty of room, though.”

“Noct, do—“

Too late. Before Ignis could remind Noct about a little thing called _committing to your turn_ , the prince threw his signal on and veered the car over into the right lane. A horn blared behind them, followed by a voice shouting obscenities until the driver cut himself off mid-profanity. Ignis assumed he must have caught sight of the royal tags on the back of the Regalia and decided it wasn’t worth picking a fight with whatever dignitary had misguidedly cut him off.

That was one crisis averted, but they weren’t fortunate enough for that to be the only one.

Despite Noct’s surety that there was _plenty of room_ for him to maneuver the Regalia at the last possible moment, he had clearly overestimated the distance that would be left between him and the car ahead in the process. Realizing his mistake and with nowhere near enough room to brake without plowing into the other car, he panicked and jerked the wheel hard—

To the left.

Ignis didn’t have a chance to grab the wheel and right their course. The force of Noct’s sudden—and quite mistaken—acceleration threw him against the passenger door so that even the length of his arms wouldn’t be enough to wrest the controls from Noct’s death-grip.

It was an odd sensation, really. Many people claimed that they experienced moments of sudden clarity or reminiscence when they believed that they would imminently be knocking on death’s door; they spoke of lives flashing before their eyes and white lights. For his part, Ignis had never bought into the idea. Any revisited memories were obviously implanted into the event after the fact when the endangered party realized what they might have lost, but they attributed it to the experience itself as though the two had happened simultaneously instead. A white light was likely the panic causing neurons in the brain to fire more rapidly, creating an optical illusion of sorts. His skepticism had always been unshakable, and finding himself seated in a car that was currently suspended in the middle of an intersection riddled with oncoming traffic did nothing to change that. Ignis felt no sudden regret, saw no luminescence worthy of the Astrals—but he heard a voice.

King Regis’s voice, telling him that he trusted him with Noctis’s life.

And wasn’t that exactly the _opposite_ of what he’d like to be thinking about whilst staring down the grill of a massive shipping truck?

Luck or providence or whatever it was that had stalked the prince’s steps with ardent loyalty since childhood was apparently once again on their side, however. The unthinkable didn’t come to pass: in the blink of an eye, they were through the intersection with nothing more than a few irritated shouts and laid-on horns to show for it.

And, of course, a sign indicating that they were going the _wrong_ way down a _one_ -way street at an alarmingly high rate of speed.

Noct had excellent reflexes and managed to avoid hitting two other cars head on, but the traffic ahead was growing more congested and would not allow even his skills to prevail for long. Thinking quickly, Ignis lunged over the center console to grip the wheel with one hand while the other scrabbled below until it closed around the emergency brake. He yelled for Noct to hold on—

Jerked the lever upwards—

Yanked the wheel to the right—

 _Prayed_.

The back end of the Regalia fishtailed around, sending them into a spin that had Ignis heartily regretting ever eating that morning. He nearly lost his hold on the steering wheel as it fought to turn in the opposite direction of its own volition, but somehow both he and Noct managed to cling on tightly. Forcing his panic down to a place where no one would ever find it, Ignis calculated the trajectory of their course, released the emergency brake, and shouted for Noct to depress the brake pedal.

This time, thank heavens, he didn’t accidentally hit the gas again.

All told, less than half a minute had most likely passed between Noct’s first mistake and the wheels on the driver’s side slamming into the curb as the car righted itself to the flow of traffic, yet Ignis’s heart felt like it had been pounding out of his chest for much longer. They had somehow— _impossibly_ —managed to center the Regalia in one of the parallel parking spaces on the side of the street with near flawless accuracy. Ignis refused to take credit for the achievement, however, owing their safety to pure luck: had there been any cars already parked in the vicinity, things would undoubtedly have gone very, _very_ differently.

Traffic passed them by, their faux pas already forgotten as they sat frozen for a minute—a day—a millennia—like statues erected to preserve the memory of their nearly disastrous test drive. Ignis was the first to recover, releasing his viselike grip on the steering wheel and turning to survey every visible inch of Noct’s body for possible injuries. A quick glance assured him that the prince wasn’t wounded, although the way his hands were shaking even as they formed tightly-clenched fists around the wheel (at ten and two, just the way Ignis had instructed him) was indicative of his mental state. Given the events of the last few minutes, Ignis determined that it couldn’t be helped; he was feeling rather unsteady on his side of the car as well, after all.

A few more minutes passed in stunned, awkward silence before Ignis finally cleared the terror from his throat enough to choke out, “That was…promising, Noct.”

There was no answer for the span of a shuddering breath, followed by a brisk and slightly hysterical chuckle.

“Hey, Ignis?”

“Yes, Highness?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re full of shit?”

Ignis hesitated, cringing slightly. “Gladio has made mention of it on a handful of occasions.”

Fortunately, Noct didn’t bother replying to that and simply settled for nodding his head slowly in comprehension, whether regarding Ignis’s inability to lie effectively or the work they had ahead of them, Ignis wasn’t sure. One thing, however, was glaringly obvious: they would be spending a great deal of time frequenting a few more empty parking lots before Ignis allowed Noct on main streets again. If they were lucky, the prince might even have his license in time to receive the car that would most likely be his demise in four years’ time.

Somehow, that deadline didn’t seem so far off after all in the face of today’s unexpected hurdles. Ignis tried not to worry, however—a lot could change in four years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! A few notes to round out this story:
> 
> 1\. In my first playthrough of the game, before all the patches, I got a lot of dialogue in the Regalia about how Noct learning to drive was a chaotic and frightening experience for Ignis. He took quite a few jabs at Noct for that, but I haven't been able to trigger that conversation since the more recent updates. Also, calling the Regalia the king's "steed" is from the beginning of chapter thirteen when he tells Noct and Gladio that the car will be able to take more than just a few missiles the empire is sending their way.  
> 2\. Ignis's cell phone alarm hijinks are a reference to the Duscae demo. He places his alarm next to Noct's ear and appears entirely unsurprised that the latter barely stirs more than to roll over. Four years earlier, Noct is still developing such dedication to his bed.  
> 3\. We all know there's a little bit of foreshadowing in Ignis's assertions that Noct will probably never break down.  
> 4\. Do NOT try the emergency brake thing.  
> 5\. Forgive my ominous foreshadowing at the end. You guys should know by now that we just can't have nice things around here. ;) 
> 
> I'm very sad to leave this story behind. It is by far the happiest in this series, and I've really enjoyed exploring Ignis and Noct's childhood with you guys. Still, the show must go on, and we've got plenty of... _fun_ stuff coming up! As always, thank you so much for reading and your wonderful feedback. Reading and answering your comments makes my day every time. I hope you'll continue to stick around for the next installment, where we head back to Ardyn's POV for a few chapters. 
> 
> Until then, walk tall, my friends. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I still have quite a few stories left in this series, but if there are any scenes _you_ would like written, please let me know in the comments and I will do my best to oblige you!


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